A Grey Christmas
by AshBax
Summary: Following the timeline of my Halloween and Thanksgiving stories— Christian, a pregnant Ana and the kids celebrate Christmas/New Years. Lots of holiday fun and romance.
1. Chapter 1

**_Here is part one of the Christmas story. A lot more to come... Happy Holidays! xo_**

 _'Twas the night after Thanksgiving and all through the house not a creature was stirring, not even Chester, or the photographer, or the turkey in his bachelor pad barn. The stockings are going to be hung tomorrow over the chimney with care in hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there. The children were nestled all snug in their beds while visions of Playstation 47 or 102, and a five story Barbie Villa on a private island with a mermaid lagoon danced in their heads. And Ana in her silk stockings and I in my Santa hat had just settled down for a long, long, winter's fuck..._

"Ho, ho, ho... Merry Christmas," I say, doing my best jolly old St. Nick as I walk into the bedroom—or rather Santa's after-hours candy cane boudoir—ready to spread some legs, some icy peppermint lube and some marital holiday cheer.

"Santa Claus! I've been waiting for you to come all night!" As have I...

It's beginning to look a lot like the best fucking Christmas ever as Ana—dressed up in a white and pink ribbon trimmed baby doll getup that looks like Little Bo Peep who lost her sheep, her skirt and the crotch area to her ruffled panties—skips toward me.

"Come and sit on Santa's lap, young lady," I say, patting my felt panted leg as I sit in my chair. I've got the real Ho-Ho-Ho get-up—red suit, hat, a long white beard and sack full and bursting to be delivered from Santa's north facing pole.

"Well, Santa..." she knocks her knees together and I take in the full view of her garters, her stockings and those sweet Mary Janes.

"Why so shy? Tell Santa what you want him to give you." Oh, I know what I want to give my girl. I have to shift in my seat to adjust myself before I give it too soon. Nothing worse than a Santa who comes and never makes it to the chimney.

"Do bad girls get presents, Santa?" she asks, batting her lashes and giving me doe eyes as her pregnant peach of an ass meets my waiting knee. God, she's so fucking hot with her hair in those little pigtails with the bows. It takes all my willpower not to finger her braids, wrap them around my cock and fuck her hair; but I don't want this scene to be over just yet and she'll kill me if I come in her fresh blow-out. I'm just glad the bedroom door is locked and the kids are asleep. This would scar their images of Santa Claus for life.

"Depends on how bad the girl has been." I want so badly to set the girls free as she shifts and pushes them into my face.

"Oh, I've been soooo naughty." She gives them a jiggle that has my jangle crying for some jingle. Those baby making tits are so big and juicy—fuck the milk and cookies, Santa wants a taste of them.

"I know. I've been making my lists and checking them twice and I see that you are oh so naughty, but oh so nice." I run my fingers along the lace edge of her thigh high. "Tell Santa what a bad girl you've been."

"Well,..." She puts on her best pouty face and purposely gives that bottom lip a slow, fleshy bite. My cock jumps, fighting the furry lining in my pants. "I like candy too much."

"Do you now? What kind of candy?" I stroke the inside of her thigh with my thumb, traveling upward. "Chocolate, butterscotch,... vanilla?" I wink.

"Lollipops."

"Lollipops?" I slide my fingers to where the elastic of her panty edge just kisses her upper thigh and play with her there.

She nods. "Long, thick, hard lollipops." My own lollipop is getting longer, thicker and harder as we speak. "I like to roll my tongue around the tip, then slide the whole thing into my mouth and suck on it," she leans in and whispers in my ear, those little braids tickling my face and her sugar lips brushing my lobe. "All. Night. Long."

"That is a very bad girl. Very, very bad." She nips at my lobe and I find it hard to concentrate. "You know all that sucking..." I move my thumb across the opening of her panties where the crotch fabric is supposed to be and tease. "...and all that sugar dripping down your throat... is very bad for you." I think I've said _very_ and _bad_ about seventy-five times in a span of ninety-two seconds, but I can't think with an advanced vocabulary when she's licking Santa's neck and there's sugar dripping on my fingers that I want to taste all night long.

She nods against my cheek—agreeing with my _very_ _bad_ assessment— and pulls back to face me, licking her lips in such a slow, purposeful way I can almost taste her skin.

"Santa can't let this go unpunished." I continue to tease her clit.

"Yes, Santa," she says with a breathy moan, willingly accepting her fate.

"If you take your punishment like a good girl," I whisper into her ear. "Santa will give you his special package." I take hold of her fingers and place them over my growing erection. "Would you like, that?"

"Oh yes, Santa!" She strokes me through the fabric as I continue teasing her with my fingers. "I can't wait to rip open your package!" She starts bucking against my hand as she strokes me oh so good. But, I pull away just as she's about to come and I'm about to mess my Santa pants. She whimpers and this time she doesn't have to put on her pout—it's the real deal.

I lift her and gently position her across my knee—so as not to harm the baby—and she squeals. To think there was a time she didn't think she'd like spankings. She's squirming around my lap so much, you'd think this was the present itself.

"Why am I spanking you?" I ask, peeling her panties from her beautiful ass and sliding them down her milky thighs, allowing them to rest at her knees.

"Because I'm a naughty girl," she says, cutting her eyes up to me and giggling.

I rub her cheek with my hand and then surprise her with a swat. She yelps.

"Stop your giggling, little miss or I'll have to quiet that mouth somehow." I can think of one way.

"Sorry, I'm being naughty again." She giggles again! I'm trying to keep my serious punishment face on, but she keeps making me smile with all of her giggle antics.

"And do naughty girls deserve presents from Santa?"

"No, Sir—err, Santa." I think she forgot where we were for a moment—not the playroom, Santa's dirty workshop. Color theme's the same.

I give her a few more swats until her ass is the glorious color of her middle name. I can feel her wetness against my fingertips with each smack, which makes my dick rise like Rudolph on Christmas Eve night.

"Oh, you are so ready for Santa to deliver his package." I run my fingers up and down her slit, where I find a soaking wet ribbon sticking out from her opening."What have we here?" I pull on the ribbon and she moans as I tug the two silver balls out, one-by-one, at a torturously slow pace.

"Those are my favorite toys, Santa." She turns her head to face me, nibbling at her own shoulder to prevent a smile.

"Did Santa say you could play with your toys before Christmas?"

"No, Santa."

I surprise her with another swat. She jerks back. I then give her another and another, taking special care to hit just the spot that's aching for me.

"Have you learned your lesson?" I ask, rubbing her glorious ass in soft, circular motions.

"No, Santa. I think I need a little more of a reminder." This is not the way this is supposed to work, but she's been topping from the bottom from day one, so why change things now. She really is into this. I give her a few more swats until we're both panting from exhaustion and arousal. I can't take it any more. Santa's sleigh needs to land.

"Will you behave from now on?"

"Yes, Santa."

I pull her up and sit her on my knee. Her cheeks have flushed to match her bottom, and she's breathy and wanton. She's so fucking beautiful. She's the best present I could ever ask for and I get to have her every day of my life.

"Now, why don't you unwrap Santa's package and show him what you do with those lollipops..."

She grins and climbs down, falling to her knees between my legs. She unzips me and my erection springs forth.

"Are you going down my chimney after I'm done?" she asks, swirling her tongue around my dewy tip.

"Oh no, Santa's going up the chimney this time..." I give her braids a little tug and her a wicked smile. "Hard."

She grins and not taking her eyes off mine, takes the full length of me into her mouth.

 _Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night..._

#######

Every year, right after Thanksgiving, fathers everywhere are stricken with a terror so unexpected, it rivals Halloween. It isn't the long Christmas lists the children write to Santa, where the old bearded guy gets credit for the checklist Dad has to fill; or the shopping for, wrapping and decorating of said packages; or the incessant off-tune caroling of the neighbor children in those Dickens style cloaks you can see their Nikes peeking out from underneath that scream Christmas present when they're supposed to be of Christmas past. No, it's the arrival of one guest who comes without warning, instills fear daily, and doesn't leave until Christmas is over.

"Ana!" I scream, nearly scalding myself at breakfast with coffee splashing out of my mug—the one the kids made me for Father's Day that's supposed to read _Super Dad_ , but instead is spelled with two _p's_ like the meal. I see his face staring back at me from behind a white poinsettia plant. His ears are pointed; his eyes demented under overly arched brows that resemble a newly plucked and needle poked Beverly Hills housewife; and he's got a smile so jolly, it claims to be of Santa, but you know it is purely of Satan.

"What is it?" she asks, rushing over with a helping of pancakes for the kids and I at the breakfast nook. They're shaped like snow people and gingerbread couples and I think the large one on the end is either Santa with a sack of toys on his back or an overweight reindeer taking a shit. Of course Teddy grabs for that one.

"Why is there a scary little man in a red leotard watching me from behind the Christmas flowers?" I asked myself that question the morning after Thanksgiving when I saw Jose—in his holiday themed long johns—peeping at Ana and I kissing under the newly hung mistletoe, before he and his father went on their way. I'm sure that father swiped some hair from my comb or a toothbrush for voodoo purposes. Lucky for me, like everything else the photographer attempts, his curses fail to perform.

"You founded him, Daddy!" Phoebe says, jumping up and down on her seat and pointing to the thing like she's just seen a friend returning from war or Chester after he's escaped and had an adventure in the pantry, eating and shitting on my dried oats—I always double check the raisins now before consumption. No, this fucker looks more like he's Barbie's jolly red stalker, watching her from the Malibu dream house bushes and plotting to take out Ken.

"Who?" I ask, motioning for her to sit down and finish her pancakes. I swear, she's liable to slip and break her neck over this. Just like her mother—no care for her own self-preservation.

"That's Wayne," Teddy says, pouring a fountain of syrup on the shit part of the reindeer pancake, then trying to push the whole thing into his mouth. Of course, it doesn't fit, so it just falls down onto his shirt and then onto his pants, instead—syrup everywhere!

"No, it's Wayne Sparkle!" Phoebe corrects.

"His name's not Sparkle, it just Wayne!" Thank the Tooth Fairy and Mother Theresa it's not Stan, his usual choice. He now picks the pancake up off his lap, folds it over and starts to eat it from the middle out. I would try and prevent this mess, but I've learned it's easier to let him have his fill and just hose him down afterward. "I don't want nobody peeping on my naughties named Sparkle!" Wise for his six years.

"No! The Sparkle makes him Christmas! Waynes are just fat and old guys," Phoebe says.

"Regular Waynes are all old and fat?" I ask.

She nods and looks at me like where have I been my whole life not to know this.

"Like Wayne Newton?"

"Is he the guy with the poopie tasting cookies?" Teddy asks.

"Yes."

"Eww!" They both say, surely remembering their first taste of fig newtons and subsequent projectile spit-up in the middle of a Sunday school social that landed all over old lady Ditmeyer's tan orthotic pumps. Luckily no one else saw and everyone thought she did it, herself—including her.

"So who is this Wayne Sparkle, anyway?" I ask. It sounds like a Vegas cowboy with an off-the-strip show. So far off-the-strip, it's his grandmother's basement via webcam.

"It's elf on a shelf," Ana laughs as she puts a gingerbread woman on my plate. I'm about to tease that I will never eat another woman but her, but the children are around.

"He's not on a shelf, he's practically in my breakfast." He's smiling and staring like he's just cut the cheese and is amused that nobody knows it's him. Well, I'm on to you, Wayne Sparkle! And stay the fuck away from my wife's pancakes!

"He's a scout elf, Daddy," Teddy says. "He only chooses shelves like one of the some of the times."

"Yeah, mostly he likes to hide so he can spy real good, 'cause peoples is more naughty when they can't see the eyeballs watching them." Phoebe adds. "And every night he flies..."Phoebe flaps her hands like a butterfly. "...way back to the Northest Pole that's seventy-two and one million miles away and it's shaped like a big peptomint J and he tells Santy all of it." What a tattle-tailing little shit.

"What's a peptomint J?" It sounds like something you take for the runs.

"A candy cane." Of course.

"So, this Wayne Sparkle boy spies on me all day and reports back to Santa if I've been bad?"

They nod.

Shit, I'm in trouble. I'm surprised I got that tie and King of the Grill collector's tool set last year—it should've been all coal.

"Daddy, did Santa come last night?" Phoebe asks. I nearly choke on the skirt of my pancake.

"Why do you say that?"

"I thought I heard him "Ho ho ho" and I waked up." Oh shit, we'll have to be quieter next time.

"Yes..." I say. Ana gives me a look. Think fast, Grey! "He came by to discuss what you kids are getting for Christmas."

"You know Santa?" Teddy asks, thoroughly awed.

"Of course I do. And he's not happy with your messy rooms. He doesn't think anything else can fit, so he may just bring you socks and pencils. Wayne Sparkle's giving a full report tonight."

They both stare at me in open mouth shock, like I just told them Christmas might be canceled, which I guess I kind of did. Fuck, I didn't mean to do that.

"I'm done!" Phoebe says, putting her napkin on her plate. "I gotta go make the messies in my room go bye-bye." She waves.

"Me, too!" Teddy says, licking the syrup off his fingers.

Well, that's one way to get them to straighten up their rooms.

"Go find Mrs. Taylor and have her clean you two up before you touch anything," Ana says. "And start on your lists for Santa! We have to get them off to the North Pole by Monday!" Or rather, Dad's pocket. But, I already know some big gifts I'm giving them and they involve two of my favorite companies—Boeing and Audi.

"Yay!" They holler and run out.

"What did I say about running and breaking your necks?" I call after them and get no response. "And don't go outside first, Teddy! You'll be covered in ants!"

They keep running and hollering, and I think I heard the back door open to the yard. At least it's winter and the bug population is low. I swear, they never listen to their father.

Ana puts another pancake on my plate. This time it's a snowman. I can't resist and wrap my arms around her waist and kiss her bump.

"Maybe you won't defy me," I murmur against her belly, but even as I say it, I know it's a lost cause. I've been openly defied since the day I met Ana. I kiss her stomach. God, I'm a lucky bastard.

"There's definitely more of you, Mrs. Grey," I say, stroking her quickly expanding bump. I could swear a week ago it was much smaller.

"Are you saying I'm fat?!"

"No! You are scrumptious." I nibble at her hip and she giggles. "But, I don't remember you having this much of a baby before, so soon. Are you sure we're only three months along?"

"Dr. Greene said so." Like that means anything. She also said the shot worked—twice. "And I can't be more than three and a half, because that's when I had my ear infection that got me pregnant."

I pull her into my lap and nibble at her ear now. She squeals.

"This ear is not what got you pregnant."

"I think I feel what did." She shifts in my lap. Though it's tempting to cover her naked body in syrup and feast on her bounty, I know I shouldn't fuck her over the leftover family pancakes.

"Do you remember that first Christmas, Ana?" I pull her close and nuzzle her neck. She smells like vanilla and maple and Ana—my favorite scent in all the world.

"Yes, our first together. Our first being married. Our first in our home."

"Our first baby on the way." I stroke her belly. "Now, look at us, we're old pros."

"A lot of firsts that year," she smiles and presses her forehead to mine. "It was special."

"Like you, Mrs. Grey." I give her a kiss. "And I think the seconds and thirds and fiftieths with you are all pretty damn special, too."

"I hope you don't mean fifty children."

"That would be a first—in the world, I think." We both laugh. "No, I'm not crazy. Eight is a good number."

"Eight?! I thought it was six!"

"I say we just keep trying and see how it goes." I kiss her neck.

"Yes, let's practice a lot in the future. On birth control."

"Good idea! We'll definitely get to ten kids that way!" It's the Dr. Greene philosophy: keep 'em coming, so the checks will. But, I do like her plan.

Ana laughs, then strokes my face and tilts my chin up to give me a sweet kiss that quickly deepens.

"Maybe we could bring that mistletoe to the bedroom and have a Mommy and Daddy Christmas meeting with Santa Claus, again," she murmurs against my lips—tinsel time temptress that she is.

"Oh yeah, what does that meeting consist of?" I untie her robe and move my hand up to stroke her breast through her nightgown, her nipple hardening beneath my fingers and pushing against the satin.

"Mostly gift giving and unwrapping of large packages." She strokes my package through my pants, reminding me of all the chimney climbing and gift giving that went on last night. Before Santa comes again, I stop her by taking hold of her greedy little Christmas present loving fingers.

"Good try, Mrs. Grey, but you haven't eaten a bite of your pancakes."

She frowns. "I'm not hungry for that." She starts for the zipper again.

"I mean it, eat your breakfast! I'm not having you or my unborn child starve to death for a blow job." Although the way her fingers are sliding up and down my erection, and after her lollipop sucking demonstration last night, it's tempting.

"I thought you said I was too big," she huffs.

"I never said _too_ big. I like you bigger. More to hold onto." I grab onto her hip and she swats. Before she can get a hand on my cock again, I lift her off and stand. "Now hurry and eat up. We have a big day ahead."

"Big day? What's happening? It's Saturday."

"The Saturday after Thanksgiving, which means it's the Saturday before the four Saturdays before Christmas!" She scrunches her brow like she's trying to follow. "Which means we have to get the kids ready by ten, so we can be there by twelve to get the full experience."

"Have you been drinking egg nog?"

"Nog?! No! I'm high on the season!"

"Should I call Flynn?"

"Only if you want him green with envy." Instead of the usual green he gets from me—dollars.

"Over what?"

"That the Grey family is about to have the best Christmas tree picking experience ever!"

########

" _Jingle bells. Batman smells. Robin laid an egg..."_ The kids sing those same words over and over again as Ana and I sit in the back of the SUV with them in bumper-to-bumper traffic. We're all dressed in matching Christmas sweaters and scarves that I had handmade by a grandmother in Norway. Whose grandmother?—I don't fucking know, but she's known as the sweater granny of some town where it snows like 80% of the time, and that's good enough for me. Being in the _Fa la la_ spirit, I also had one made for Chester, who's sitting on Phoebe's shoulder, staring at me with blood thirsty fangs, in a green knit turtleneck. He kind of looks like he's about to do a poetry reading.

"How much longer, Taylor?" I call up front.

"Just up ahead, sir."

"You said that twenty minutes ago."

"It was up ahead then too, sir." I swear Taylor never gives me good estimates when it comes drive times. I thought they had to do that in the military. I think he makes it vague so I won't get pissed off when it's really an hour off plan.

"Where are we going again?" Ana asks, as I stroke her belly. Lord, if this is three months, then our kid is coming out the size of a linebacker and ready to play. If that's the case, I hope it's a boy. I don't want a girl to have to bear the burden of shoulders bigger than mine in nursery school.

"I told you; to get our tree." I pull at my collar. It is an unseasonably warm day in Seattle for Nordic knits, but damn it, it's Christmas—time to wear sweaters. And, I want our family photo in front of our fresh pick to be just right. Nothing says happy family like a ten footer and matching holiday sweaters.

"We've been driving for over an hour."

"It will be well worth it. Silver Pines Christmas Experience was voted the best hidden gem for Christmas trees in the outer Seattle area by ."

"How outer is outer?"

"Upper outer, not outer outer."

"What?"

"Is it in outer space?" Teddy asks.

"Yay! We can see the moon people and Chester can eat their cheeses!" Phoebe says.

"It's not on the moon! And, I don't care how far it is, it's got a snowman village, a train to the North Pole, Santa's Toyland and a workshop with real elves!" My voice is so high and excited, I sound like I just saw my first pair of tits on the day I hit puberty.

"Are elves really real, Daddy?" Teddy asks.

"Of course they are."

"Are they like Yodas mixed with peoples?" Phoebe asks.

"What? No, they're magical little creatures who help Santa make toys and put gold at the end of rainbows."

"Those are leprechauns," Ana says. Oh, right.

"I never got gold from a rainbow!" Teddy says.

"That's because you haven't been at the end of one."

"How much monies does he pay them?" Phoebe asks, always interested in the bottom dollar.

"Nothing. They just love Christmas so much, they're happy to dedicate their time to the cause."

"That's not very nice that Santa won't pay them monies. Maybe they have babies who would like more candy. And they'd prolly work more harder if their babies was happy." I have a regular Norma Rae here, fighting for the unionization of the elves.

"They don't have families."

"Why not?"

"Because they work too hard for Santa." And I'm not sure if there are any female elves or if they even have functioning genitalia. Why the fuck am I thinking about elf dick when I just want to take my family to buy a Christmas tree?!

"Christian, there's so much traffic!" Ana says, looking out her window. There is quite a holdup.

"Don't worry, Ana. All these people can't be going to the same place."

"Yes, they are."

"How do you know that?"

She points to a sign— _Silver Pines Santa Experience Straight Ahead._ There's a wooden elf that I think is supposed to be waving or pointing us to the fun ahead, but it looks like a car sideswiped his hand off. Fuck. I didn't know there would so many germ carrying idiots around us when we picked out our tree. At least we'll be outdoors and I brought insect repellent.

"Well, so many people are here because it's just so good!" I think that's what Kavanagh claimed when she invited the frat house over for a party one night in college. But, really it was just because it was free.

"Daddy, it's hot!" Phoebe says, pulling at her scarf.

"Yeah, I feel like my sweat is going to fill up my shirt, shoot up my nose and drownded me," Teddy says. So dramatic.

"You won't be hot when we get there. It's going to be like a frozen wonderland. And I won't have you catch cold."

"How are these trees more authentic than others we've had?" Ana asks, pointing out the window to someone driving down the mountain with a fresh cut on their hood.

"Ana, just like the name of the place, it's all about the experience. Isn't it more Christmasy to go to the woods and smell the pine and get the freshest one, than just pick up some dead branches nailed to a stand that Jeff Fromer sets up every year at that dilapidated tree lot of his to pay for his not-so-secret gin addiction?"

"What's a gin add-itching?" Teddy asks.

"Does he have poison oak itchies or itchies from 'squitos?" Phoebe asks.

"He loves the card game—gin rummy." His wife wishes. At least there would be a chance he'd make money.

"It's straight ahead, sir," Taylor says.

"Trust me, Ana." I take hold of her hand and give it a kiss. "This is going to knock your Christmas stockings off.

#######

"Where is the snowman village?" I ask, as we stand in front of some half-assed wads of snow with twigs and carrots stuck haphazardly in places they don't belong.

"This is it," says a man in overalls whose tag reads _Bud_ , but is no friend of mine.

"This was supposed to be Frosty's family!"

"It was about an hour ago, but we hit a warm spell. And a lot of foot traffic!" He points to a boot track right over Frosty's black top hat. I wanted to take my family to see Frosty and his kin enjoying winter, not an arctic crime scene.

"Did Frosty get stepped on and died, Daddy?" Phoebe asks, looking up at me with those sad eyes.

"Of course not. You know the story. He does what he always does—he melts and a winter breeze blows and he comes back again and walks all over the town, singing with the police."

"I will eat you all!" Teddy says, mimicking a Godzilla attack on snowman land as his right foot pounds down on what I think was grandma.

"Ahhh!" Phoebe screams. "Teddy's killing the snow people!"

"Teddy stop!" Ana says, pulling them both back.

I look out on the experience and all I can see are feet. And worse, the feet belong to people. Hundreds of germ-ridden pedestrians eating cheap cotton candy, turkey legs the size of their heads, and all looking for trees. What the fuck kind of experience is this? It's more like an experiment to see if I can keep my sanity.

"Where is the train to Santa mountain?" I ask Bud. "All I see are rusted tracks." I point to the line of them that wind up a red and white colored mountain. Upon further review, I see that it's been spray painted to look like the face of Santa. It's absolutely horrifying.

"There she is." He points to a broken down choo-choo in the distance that looks like its last ride was 1982.

"I thought that was the main attraction!"

"No, Santa's village is."

"How do we get to that?"

"Normally the train."

"But, the train is broken."

"Right. Since the train is broken, you have to walk."

"How far is the walk?"

"About a mile straight up."

"A mile?! I'm not having my children and pregnant wife walk a mile up Santa's face! We'll take the SUV."

"That won't work."

"Why?"

"You'll destroy the art work with your tires."

"Oh really?" I pull out a hundred dollar bill.

He takes it, puts it in his flannel shirt pocket and I think we're good to go.

"No, that won't work, either," he says. "Because it's closed for the day."

"It's not even noon!"

"We'd have to pay the elves time and a half on a holiday weekend, so we decided to shut her down until next week."

"See, the elves do get paid, Daddy!"' Teddy says.

"Yay for the babies and their candies!" Phoebe cheers.

"Next week? We're here today!"

"I'm sorry. Not my problem."

"Either is carrying my hundred dollar bill around." I snatch it from his shirt pocket. "I thought this place was a hidden gem!"

"It was until all the people who read that dumb website." This is ridiculous. I want to buy this place just so I can shut it the fuck down.

"Christian," Ana says. "Let's just get the tree and go."

"Fine. Where are the trees?"I ask Bud the holiday dud.

He just stands there for a moment.

"Aren't you going to show me?"

He eyes my hundred. Fucker.

#######

"There are three trees here!" I say, surveying the forest of stumps before us. It's like everyone, their mother and their mother's accountant's dry cleaner decided to get a tree here today. One of them is decent, but the other two look like they survived a drought and a wood chipper—barely. "Where are the rest? I saw a flourishing forest online!"

"We don't open up the rear woods until next week when the train starts up and the elves come." I'm not even going to touch that statement. "You can choose any tree out here that you want."

"You're too kind." I grit my teeth.

"Don't mention it." He hands me an ax.

"What's this for?"

"You can't take the tree home attached." He laughs like a fucker would—hard, quick, and bringing no pleasure to anyone but himself.

"You mean I have to cut it down myself?"

"If you're man enough."

I start to lunge.

"Christian," Ana says, holding my arm that's holding the ax, so I won't detach his member from his person with it. She knows me so well. "Let's just go to our regular tree lot."

"No, I can do this."

Bud gives us a wave and leaves us to choose from the pine trifecta.

"I thought you said it would be cold here, Daddy," Teddy says, pulling at his sweater.

"Just use your imagination! And stop stretching your Christmas ensemble!"

"But, I'm trying to widen the yarn holes so air can get on my skin."

" _Bat mobiles has losted his wheels and the joker gots away!_ " Phoebe shouts, then laughs a joker-style _ha-ha-ha_ set to the tune as we walk toward the only real choice on the ransacked lot.

"That's not how the song goes," I say, as they both start in on the original chorus for the fifty-seventh time. "Batman has no part in Christmas!"

"Uh huh," Teddy says. Blayde McCuffen says that the bats help Santa see at night and make the sleigh fly and Batman is the father of all of the bat children and he and Santa are a team and he's right about almost all of everything."

"Who's always right about everything? Batman or Santa?"

"Blayde McCuffen."

"What's he been right about before?"

He thinks for a second so long it's practically an hour.

"He can stick his finger in the air and tell when it's gonna rain!" Teddy says, like its the most unbelievable feat known to man. Blayde's father does the same thing— except it's up the ass of a hooker and he usually gets it wrong.

"You can't trust him! He's not even right on the spelling of own his name!" Blayde with a " _y"._.. I shake my head.

"Christian, Blayde is a nice boy," Ana says.

"I didn't say he wasn't nice. I said he can't be trusted. A lot of nice people can't be trusted to know things." Sort of like Elliot when it came to choosing Kavanagh. "Besides, everyone knows that it's impossible for bats to help a sleigh fly." I snort at the ridiculousness of such fairy stories. "Rudolph and the other reindeer do that!"

"Daddy," Phoebe says. "Does Batman smell of farts?"

"Yes. That's why you shouldn't sing that song. You might catch what's ailing him."

"You can catch farts?" Phoebe asks. "Is it like baseballs of pushed together smelly air?"

"I wanna throw fartballs!" Teddy's says.

And they start singing again in the hopes of playing catch with home-run balls of gas.

"How do I fucking chop down a tree?" I whisper to Taylor as the kids play and Ana tries to control them. All of a sudden I feel like we're living in a _Little House on the Prairie_ Christmas special.

"You just swing the ax into the wood, sir." Taylor says.

"How do you know about tree chopping?"

"I built my mother's house."

"With trees you chopped down yourself?"

"Partially." Why does he sound so shady? Were they his trees? Maybe they were someone else's... I never pictured Taylor as lumber thief.

"Didn't you need permits and such?"

"It's way out, sir." He motions like that's an answer. How way out is this place? Is he really a hillbilly? I wonder what Taylor's mother looks like. I shudder imagining his gorilla hands on a sixty-five year old woman. Or those legs in a skirt.

"Would you like me to do it, Mr. Grey?" Oh he would like that. Showing his lumberjack abilities off in front of my wife. Why not just whip out his dick, piss all over the bark and stake his claim like a lion, while he's at it.

"No, I can handle my own ax and my own wood, Taylor." I ready my chopper. "Just stand back and make sure everything's lined up right.

He stands back and looks. "Your wood and ax look perfect to me, Mr. Grey!" Jesus, could he say that any louder?

"Everyone, get back!" I yell to Ana and the kids.

"What?" Ana says, holding the kids close to her in the distance. They're so far back, they can't even hear me. This is good. I don't want any trees falling anywhere near my family. I don't worry about Taylor. He's obviously used to wood falling on him.

"Is this the one we want?" I point to it and give a thumbs up.

The kids cheer as Ana gives a thumbs up in return.

I lift the ax, pull it backward and give it a swing that hits the wood. I look down, expecting the tree job to be halfway done and I realize I've only made half-an-inch of progress.

"Nice swing, sir!" Taylor praises.

"Thank you." Okay, if I keep making half-an-inch progress with each chop, we should be out of here by Christmas. Maybe. But, I spoke too soon. The next chop I definitely make a good 3/4 of an inch progress, but in another spot entirely!

"Try to keep even with the same line!" Taylor says.

"Oh really? I had no idea!" I roll my eyes.

"It's all in the wrist action, sir. Would you like me to hold onto it with you while you chop?"

"No, Taylor, it's fine." That's the last thing I need—Taylor spooning me from behind with both hands over mine as we hold to my ax and move in unison to find wood.

Fuck it, I'm going to town on this bark! I workout with Claude, I'll be fine. I give it another strike, then another, then another. So far not one of them matches up. I'm sweating up a storm in this sweater and scarf.

"Taylor, hold my scarf!" He tries to pull it off of me, nearly strangling me in the process. "What the fuck are you doing?"

"Trying to remove your knits."

"Well, don't remove my life in the process!"

Finally I'm free. I take a few breaths and then chop a few more.

"Yes!" I cheer—hands in the air— when one actually makes contact with an already hit strip. The kids and Ana cheer, too. I finally got it! It's going to be smooth sailing now!

 _An hour and twenty-seven minutes later..._

I'm a man without breath, without sweater, without dignity, as I make my final chop into the bark of a tree that nearly defeated me. The tree falls and so do I.

"I did it, Ana," I say out of breath as I struggle to reach the oasis that is my wife, who's sitting with our two sleeping children on a far-off bench.

"Oh Christian, you did such a beautiful job." God, I love her. I know that she's lying through her teeth and that makes me love her all the more. Our trunk looks like it's been attacked by Edward Scissorhands before he learned how to use them and on a drunk, angry night.

"Take me home, please," I say. She gives me a kiss on the head.

"Come on kids, we have our tree," she says, waking them.

They rub their eyes like they've been in hibernation all winter.

"Do you like it?" I say, as they look.

"Yay!" They cheer and I'm so happy they're happy.

"Wait!" I say, remembering an important task at hand. "We need our picture!"

We gather our kids into their Christmas sweaters and all pose by the tree. Taylor gets out the camera and takes the shot. Instead of a picture card of the perfect Christmas, we look like we've been attacked by it, but we've survived—together. Funny thing is, I love it all the more.

"Great photo, Grey!" A man's voice shouts from the distance. Oh fuck, it's Jim Dubrow. Of course he'd be here to stuff a turkey leg into his mouth. Oh look, that's just what he's doing.

"Jim!" I act like I care, but not really. It's funny, I never associated with the masses before I had a family, now I'm forced to uphold niceties in the community. Just because I live on top of the hill, over everyone, somehow makes me a fucking pillar.

"I see you got your tree!"

"I see you got your leg."

"Indeed." He laughs, then peels some skin off the thing with his teeth. How do they get turkey legs that big? I've never seen one like that in the wild. Of course, the only wild one I've been acquainted with is now a member of my family and surprisingly it's not Elliot. Are they bionic? Or have we all been lied to and they just glue a bunch of extra meat on the bone to fool us into feeling like triumphant cavemen in amusement park environments.

"So, you competing in the contest this year?"

"What contest?"

"The Ho-Ho-House decorating contest. Everyone in the area is competing. The bigger the better. Whoever wins this thing can claim to be King of the neighborhood." He takes another chomp of greasy flesh. I'm already King of the neighborhood. Our home is so big, it practically takes up its own zip code.

"It sounds fun, but I'm sure we're not interested."

"I'm surprised you're not already involved. Didn't Bent tell you? He's the one who organized this whole thing."

"No, Bent didn't." Fucking Bent Richards—that fucker from my rowing team in high school who they called Bent Dicks for obvious anatomically incorrect reasons. I still won't forget what happened at that first _Coping Together_ ball that could've jeopardized my future with Ana. But, I showed him. I hadn't seen him in years, but last summer he moved into a house on Blue Jay Lane at the bottom of the hill with his man-of-a-wife and three unexceptional kids that were probably fathered by the cable guy, considering his sperm can't shoot straight. He knows I'd kick his Ivy League ass in any contest, lights or other—of course he didn't tell me!

"On second thought, Jim—where do I apply?"


	2. Chapter 2

_**Merry Christmas! Hope all of you are having the best holiday! Thank you for your reviews and follows! This story has two more parts after this and will end in a New Years celebration. And for loyal readers—yes, Bent is my character from my Darker story. I thought it would be fun to add that in before I update Darker again. Enjoy! xo**_

"Where does one obtain a pair of turtle doves, Mr. Grey?" Taylor asks, looking over the plans I've concocted for the perfect Grey family Christmas. I go all out every year, but following that disaster of an experience at Silver Pines and my entry in the Ho-Ho-House decorating contest, I'm not holding anything back. I'll make all my family's wildest winter dreams come true and straighten out Bent Dicks in the process. In fact, my plan is so fucking perfect—Bing Crosby will be rolling over in his grave when people stop wanting a white Christmas and want a Grey one instead.

"You don't have to worry about that until the second day of Christmas," I say, pointing to the broken up timeline of the song on the page. I've separated each day of gifting by colors. I ran out of good ones by the time the drummers came along and I had to use that green that looks like it made itself sick.

"Is that the 26th, sir?"

"Of course not! It's eleven days before and one day after it all begins."

"One day after what begins?"

"The first day!"

"Christmas Day, sir?"

"No! The day after the twelve days begins before Christmas and after the first day."

"And what day is that, sir?"

We're both trying to compute this age old Yuletide equation in our minds.

"I don't know," I say. "Count back twelve days from the twenty-fifth and start with the partridge in a pear tree and go from there."

He looks confused as he reads the lyrics. Hasn't he ever heard this damn song before? I hear different, made-up versions of it daily. Yesterday, Phoebe was singing about ten puppies dancing in tutus, seven ponies leaping over candy rainbows and a princess in a moonbeam tree. If she wasn't four and incredibly imaginative like her mother, I'd think I was listening to a psychedelic drug trip.

"There are an awful lot of birds, Mr. Grey." He's right; the song is bird heavy. I've always wondered about that—why his true love wants all those shitting, squawking birds. Especially the geese-a-laying all over the place. And multiples of them everyday. It almost sounds like a practical joke gone too far. But, who am I to challenge Christmas lore. This song says high holiday romance like no other—so by God, Ana's getting the birds! I had the most issues with the lords-a-leaping, the pipers and the drummers, though. I made implicit orders that any men coming around in tights and playing with their musical equipment must either be gay or not in working order.

And where would I find the maids-a milking and the dancing ladies?" He looks at me, almost horrified.

"Actors, Taylor." Jesus, he acts like I want him to pick up prostitutes from the boulevard!

"Yes, sir."

"And I want an ice rink in the meadow and a former Olympian to teach the kids how to skate. What's that Mary Lou girl doing now?" Or the one who won everything and defected.

"You mean Nadia?" he says with such authority and verve and even wistful reminiscence, that I have to wonder about him. I had no idea Taylor was such a fan of triple axels and salchow jumps. Maybe he just likes the outfits.

"Yes, that's the one."

"I'll look into it, sir."

"The Santa experience was a big disappointment, so I want to recreate it here—bigger and better than Silver Pines could ever dream of. Bigger and better than the North Pole itself. I want Santa to fly by in his sleigh and say— _Fuck it all, I've been bested by Grey._ "

"I'm not sure I can imagine Santa saying it quite like that, sir."

"That reminds me, we need elves."

"You want elves, too?"

"Yes. And I want quality workshop players, not some dime-a-dozen shits that just glue tips on their ears and wait around for a scratch-their-ass break."

"How many elves, sir?"

"I don's know. Enough to make it realistic that they make toys for the world."

"That's a lot of elves, sir."

"Pick up a Santa Claus, a real sleigh and some reindeer while you're at it. And do a triple thorough background check on that Santa. I know there are a bunch of perverts who look for that gig this time of year. Find a kind old grandpa with nothing better to do, who wants to make some side cash. And I want face-to-face time with them first, before any lap sitting occurs."

"Yes, Mr. Grey."

"And I want real snow to fall on Christmas morning outside my children's windows."

"Like a machine?"

"No, contact whoever is in charge of the clouds and make it happen."

He looks at me like I'm serious and he's trying to process how to actually do this.

"I'm kidding, Taylor. Of course a machine. It's better than real snow, anyway. We'll have control over the output. You can't trust the weather gods to make things happen right."

"Yes, sir."

"And not some half-ass soap bubbles that fall for five minutes and disappear. I want a steady, fluffy fall." I mimic the snowfall fluttering down with my fingers. "And blankets."

"To keep warm?"

"No, of snow! Enough for us to play, sled and build snowmen in after we've opened gifts and had our Belgian waffles and peppermint hot chocolate." I'm still bitter the kids had to witness that murdered Frosty family, so Dad is going to use his magic and bring them back to life.

"I'll get a snow man."

"No, we want to make them."

"Not a snowman, sir. A snow man. He handles snow, he's not made of it."

"Good—now about the lighting for the contest."

"Should I hire a company to string some lights?"

"String some lights? I just told you how I want to put Santa Claus out of business and you think I just want a few lights? I don't want a few—I want thousands. Think Vegas, but Christmas!" I envision the Grey family Christmas future and it's bright—literally. "That's it!"

"What's it!"

"We'll call Steve Wynn's design team! Tell them to spare no expense to draw up some plans and by week's end I want people to be able to see my house from California!"

"Does Mrs. Grey know about all of this, sir?"

"Of course not! Ana always wants to get along with the neighbors; I want to conquer them. Especially Bent Dicks. And you of all people should know why."

Taylor grimaces, surely remembering the Coping Together ball. After all these years, it still leaves a bitter taste in both our mouths.

"I'll never forgive him for what he almost did to you, sir."

"Good. Use that as motivation."

"For what, sir?"

"For war."

And like that, the battle lines are drawn.

#######

"Why did you have to invite Kate and Elliot over to decorate our tree?" I ask Ana, as she finishes popping a bowl of popcorn that could feed an entire Seattle Cineplex.

"Phoebe wanted to see Ava."

"Well, why didn't we just invite her?"

Ana shoots me a look.

"I thought it would be fun and new," she says—pop, pop, popping away.

"It's not new to me! I've decorated trees with Elliot my whole life. I grew up so I wouldn't have to anymore."

"I'm not sure you've grown up." She raises a brow.

"I'm serious, Ana. He doesn't even decorate right. He just throws too-large quantities of icicles on the tree in all the wrong places. Sometimes with his feet, for laughs." There's nothing more troubling than tree decorating with someone who doesn't separate his icicles properly.

"I'm sure he's not that bad."

"You're right, he's worse! He used to tell me there were flying bugs that lived in the bark, when we were kids, and then he'd make buzzing noises and throw chunks of my grandmother's fruitcake through the branches at my face and freak me the fuck out."

Ana turns around and strokes my hair. "Well, you have nothing to worry about—we don't have any fruitcake. And I'll make sure he doesn't attack."

"I'm more worried about his wife."

Ana gives me a "behave" point. I nip at her fingertip.

I look around me and it suddenly feels like I've stepped into Orville Redenbacher's factory.

"Why are we making so much popcorn? No one's going to eat all this!"

"It's not for eating, it's for decorating the tree."

"What are we going to do, throw it on there?"

"We string it with needles and thread and drape it around."

"You're kidding me."

"I thought we should go for some more down-to-earth decorations this year."

"Any more down to the earth and you'll be at dirt."

"Christian!"

"Ana, this is what poor people do."

"It's tradition!"

"Just because it's old, doesn't make it good! No one puts popcorn on a tree that can do any better— they special order from Harrod's."

"You're a snob!"

"And I've worked damn hard to be it."

"What about cranberries?" she asks, picking up a bowl of them and putting one up to my mouth. I catch it with my front teeth.

"What about them?" I take it out and look at it. It's all hard and tart and inedible. Kavanagh should feel a kinship with them.

"We're stringing those, too."

"Ana, what did I just say?" I discard the berry in the sink.

"Daddy Daddy!" the kids yell, interrupting and making me forget what the hell I just said, as they race into the room with sheets of paper and thrust them into my hands. It's just like the office—everyone wants me to sign off on something.

"What's this?"

"Our lists for Santy!" Phoebe says.

"Mrs. Taylor and Mommy helped us write them!" Teddy says.

I look at the pages. Let's see what kind of reasonable gifts my children are asking for this year...

"Oh—a space ship that really really shoots way farther than Mars," I read. "Just that, huh?"

"It could be a small one, 'cause I only want to take Boone and he's short everywhere but his chest." Kind of like the photographer. Great, now I have to pay for this turkey's space travel. Next thing I know he'll want to go to college, then start a career with a 401K, then retire to Boca—all on my dime. At least Chester has no further aspirations than tasting my blood and baked goods.

"And what's a twirly round with uno corn," I ask, reading from Phoebe's list. Is that _uno_ like Spanish? I've only taught her French words and numbers in Japanese. So help me, Jose better not be sneaking her lessons!

"Like the ponies who go round and round on the pier."

"A merry-go-round?"

She nods.

"And why do you want one corn on it?"

"I think that's unicorn," Ana says. Oh right.

"Well, I don't know," I say as they stare at me in suspense. "I have another meeting with Santa late tonight..." I wink at Ana and she blushes. "We'll have to see what the big guy says." I always act like it's going to be a close call as to whether Santa will come through with their lists or not, and that Dad has to work some major negotiating magic to make it happen at the eleventh hour. I like to build up the anticipation, but of course I end up filling their lists and twice more. I'll have to contact a guy I know from NASA and call in a favor for a model. And where the fuck do I get a unicorn? Maybe a horse in a funny hat...

Speaking of horses in funny hats... The doorbell rings. Kate and Elliot have arrived. Only, they never wear funny hats, that's just how they are.

"Ava's here!" Phoebe squeals and jumps up and down like she's going to wet herself.

"You just saw her two days ago!" I say.

"That many?! We gots so much girl talk to catch up on!" I can hardly wait until they're thirteen and their ears are permanently attached to their phones—kill me now.

Phoebe and Teddy run to the door.

"Now Christian, be nice!" Ana says.

"I'm always nice." I give her my nicest smile.

"You are to me, not to them."

"I'm just honest in my niceness. It's the best policy. And I'm a guy big on policy."

"Well, make it your new policy to be more of a liar in the spirit of Christmas!"

"Hey, bro! I heard you cut down a tree! It smells like the forest in here!" Elliot says, upon entering with his family. "Oh I got that wrong—you cut the cheese and it smells like a forest of your farts!" All the kids laugh like it's the most fucking hysterical thing they've heard all year. Teddy's gripping his gut, he's getting so much enjoyment out of it. Nothing like my brother and his potty humor to get the six and under crowd rolling in the aisles.

"Elliot, Katherine—so glad you could grace us with your presence and entertainment value." Ana nudges me in the ribs. "And what do we have here?" Elliot's carrying a plate of cookies that look like they disagreeably left my ass, which will probably happen later, so they skipped the middle man and started early on the plate.

"Kate made some chocolate cherry Yule logs," Elliot says. No wonder they look like bloody shits.

"You've gotta see my tree!" Phoebe says, grabbing Ava's hand. My Daddy chopped it down 'cause he's the strongest, most bravest Daddy evers!"

"You hear that, Elliot—"evers". I grin. _Evers_ is the new _laters_.

"Quite the lumberjack," Kavanagh snarks and she and my brother yuck it up.

I'm about to snark back when Ana grabs my shoulder.

"Lies, Christian—lies," she whispers, reminding me of my Christmas promise.

"You won't be laughing when you see it," I say, leading the family into the living room for the big unveiling. We enter and all eyes fall on my tree—make that my falling tree.

What. The. Fuck. It's leaning to the side like somebody yelled timber and it's posing for a snapshot halfway down. Wait, maybe I'm exaggerating. Maybe it's just the angle I'm looking at it from and I'm extra judgmental because that's just how I am. Maybe no one else notices—

"Why is the tree about to fall over?" Elliot notices—and laughs.

"Yeah, is it stable?" Kate asks. I want to tell her she belongs in one, but I hold my tongue.

"Of course it's stable! It's standing isn't it?" Even as I say it, I hold my breath.

"I don't think it's stable," she says again.

"It's fine. It just grew like that in the forest. It's used to living at an angle." I don't want to confess that I chopped it at a zig-zagged diagonal. It didn't look that bad when we put it up. It must've been influenced by gravity.

"Let's just decorate it," Ana says. "It'll be perfect once it's all dressed up."

"Good idea," I say, although I wouldn't say popcorn is dressey. I go to put on some music—some jazzy sixties Christmas jingles for an upbeat decorating mood. But, I think the majority of the room would've preferred the Chipmunks instead.

"Daddy, I think you should wear this," Phoebe says, standing on a chair and draping tinsel on me like a scarf.

"You think it's a good look, huh?"

"It brings out the rain clouds in your eyes."

I smile and she giggles, then scampers off to play with her brother and cousin, leaving me draped in her sparkles.

When did I become the guy in a tinsel boa, playing Christmas songs to string popcorn by? I watch as Ana brings the popcorn out in bowls and sets them on the coffee table. It was the day she fell into my office and I became the luckiest son-of-bitch alive.

"Cool—snacks!" Elliot says, digging in for a handful.

"They're not snacks!" I say, racing over—still wearing my tinsel boa—and swatting at his greedy paw. "They're our tree decorations." Although I think it's ridiculous, if Ana wants to string corn, we're going to fucking string corn.

"Did you hit hard times and not tell us, bro?" Elliot laughs and so does Kavanagh—like two hyenas in the wild. "Nice get-up, by the way. I have an outfit like that myself." Elliot points to some beads around his neck. Ava's been at work. I have to smile.

"Popcorn strands are tradition!" I say, grabbing a needle and thread that Ana's laid out and hand it to him.

"How do you work it?" he asks.

"It's not a new entertainment console, it's a needle and thread." I grab my own. "It's so simple, a child could do it."

"Can I do it?" Teddy asks.

"No!"

"Why not?"

"Because you're a child."

"Me, too," Elliot says, raising his hand, trying to worm his way out of it. Of course he probably is too childlike to handle it. He looks at it, trying to figure out the pointy little thing in his hand. Sounds like a recurring problem in his bedroom.

"Honestly Elliot, this is a piece of cake."

Thirty minutes later...

A piece of double shit fudge cake! Why the hell is it so fucking difficult to string this popcorn? I never want to see a needle and thread or a movie theatre again in my life! This whole thing is giving me a complex— my string is never long enough; my popcorn keeps falling apart and refusing my prick, and I keep poking myself with my own fucking needle in the process.

"I didn't know I'd be sewing for Christmas," Elliot says, still on the first four pieces of his first strand. "I should've paid attention in Home Ec."

"Or school in general," I say. Fuck—I poked myself again!

"Are you okay, Christian?" Ana asks, watching me suck blood from my finger. For once Chester isn't the cause.

Speaking of Chester—I can see the little fucker, in his Christmas snowflake pajamas, nibbling at a string of corn on the tree from perch on Phoebe's shoulder. At least it's not my neck.

"I'm fine."

"Why don't you work on the lights," she says. Good idea.

After surviving untangling the lights and hanging them, what feels like forty-seven strings of popcorn mostly done by Ana, plus enduring a rendition of "Santa Baby" by Kavanagh—it's time for ornaments.

"Here are some balls, bro. I know they're a lot larger than you're used to, but maybe you can figure out how to use them." Fucker.

"I wanna hang 'em!" Teddy says.

"No, me!" Phoebe says!

"No, I wanna!" Ava says.

I hand them the least breakable ones I can find. The girls pick what they deem the prettiest branches within their reach and Teddy immediately goes around to the back of the tree and hangs his facing paint.

"Why'd you put it all the way back there?" I ask.

"The wall needs to see Christmas, too." Fair point well made.

"Remember this one?" Ana asks, coming over to me and resting her head against my shoulder as she holds up a silver ornament of an intertwined C and A that match the wedding cuff links she gave me— our ornament. I gave it to her that first Christmas. It has little holes at the bottom to hold charms representing the children we have. I gave her a charm for Teddy the next Christmas and one for Phoebe two years after that.

"We'll have to add a new one next year," I say, wrapping my arms around her, holding her belly, as I place our family ornament with pride on the strongest branch.

"Thank you. Ana!" I whisper and kiss the side of head.

"For what?"

"Everything."

Suddenly I feel something brush my hair up top. I see Ana's eyes shoot up and then she giggles into my chest. I look up to see Elliot holding Phoebe above me. She's swinging mistletoe over my head and giggling just like her mother.

"You gots to kiss Mommy when you're under mister-toe!" Phoebe says, her eyes and smile twinkling in the Christmas lights.

"Well, who am I to argue with Mister Toe..." I grin and look down to Ana. "May I have this kiss, Mrs. Grey?"

"Always."

I lean down and my lips meet Ana's—the softest, sweetest lips in the entire universe and how lucky I am that they're mine.

"They'll be more of that later," I whisper in her ear.

We all resume with the ornaments and the tree is taking shape. Elliot's even managed to properly place his icicles, which is a feat I never thought I'd witness. It's all going well until I hear a rattle of the branches and a faint buzzing noise. It's familiar and reminds me of my youth—not Elena's vibrating strap-on, the fruitcake bugs. I should've known. That's why Elliot is being so good. It's the calm before the fruitcake throwing storm.

"Elliot, stop it," I say, trying to concentrate on hanging my balls and not lose my cool. Is he really this immature? I look down. He's wearing wearing Spider-Man socks, of course he is.

"Stop what?"

"You know exactly what."

"No, I don't." His innocent, dumb look is almost believable. Well, the dumb look anyway.

I hear the buzzing again.

"That!" I say.

"What?"

"That buzz!"

"That's not me!"

 _Buzz_.

"Oh right, like it wasn't you when you told me the bugs were going to attack me from the bark and you threw a hunk with a green cherry at my face." You can never trust a green cherry.

"That was so funny!" He guffaws.

I look him square in the eyes.

"Seriously, we're adults with wives and children now." Although, his wife would put him up to it. And so would the children.

 _Buzz_.

"I'm not doing it!" he says, holding his arms up in surrender.

I've about reached my limit, when I hear it again—louder this time—and unless Elliot is an expert ventriloquist without my knowledge, it's not him.

Then, I see it—the biggest fucking insect I've ever seen, flying straight at my face.

"It's a birdy, Daddy!" Teddy says.

"No, it's a plane!" Phoebe says.

No, it's Superbug and it's headed my way! I wave my arms to shoo it away, but it just won't go.

"Christian!" Ana calls out, trying to swat it with a rolled up magazine, but ends up hitting my face instead.

"Hit the bug! Not me!"

"I'm sorry! I couldn't tell the difference!"

"Easy mistake," Elliot says and he and Kate laugh at the attack.

In all of my waving and swatting, my hand catches on a string of popcorn as the prehistoric sized insect dives straight for my right eye. I try to jerk free, but it's no use—the entire tree comes down with me.

 _Crash_.

"See, I told you it wasn't stable," Kavanagh says as I lie in defeat beneath the branches.

#######

Soft holiday music plays as I watch the tree from my chair, nursing both my twisted right ankle from the fall and brandy from my glass, enjoying the peace left since the guests did and the lights glowing in the night. The tree's been straightened again—well, as straight as it's ever going to get—and the broken ornaments and torn off popcorn strings will be replaced tomorrow. Even in its lopsided mess—or maybe because of it—it's beautiful with the lights. A little light does that, even for a broken down tree. I should know first hand.

Sitting here, watching the glow, makes me think of all the Christmases with Ana—our first, our first with baby Teddy, our first with Phoebe where Teddy threw a terrible fit when he realized he'd have to share Christmas with his sister. And for some reason, these lights make me think of the Christmas before I met Ana. Before I knew there could be more...

I went to see my family for dinner on Christmas Eve, per usual, but I didn't go to church. I never did in those days. Instead, I left and met Elena for a drink at the club. We talked about the fools who made such a big deal of the holiday. How we would never be them. I'm not sure why—maybe the three martinis or the couple dancing to the Christmas waltz and kissing under the mistletoe in front of us—but in a rare moment, I allowed myself to feel. And I never felt so lonely with someone before.

Elena noticed my watch of that couple on the dance floor and asked me to join her out there. I told her I wasn't in the mood and just continued to watch the waltzing lovers until they finished. The woman kissed him and laid her hand on his chest, and for a split second I wondered what that would feel like. I shook those thoughts away and excused myself to spend Christmas Eve—as I always did—alone at my piano in the cold and dark of Escala. Only that night I couldn't play, because I couldn't get the waltz out of my head.

"They're asleep," Ana says, rescuing me from my Christmas past with her presence.

"How many times did Phoebe make you read _Olive the Other Reindeer_!"

"Four."

"Tied me from last night."

"How's the tree?" she asks.

"Considering it's lost half the bulbs at the bottom and the trunk is sawed off crooked, it's still standing."

She laughs and I watch her there for a moment, standing in her floor length satin robe. She looks radiant in the lights of Christmas—she looks like Christmas itself.

"Come here," I say, reaching out my hand. She takes it and I pull her into my lap.

"What is it, Mr. Grey?'" She smiles and brushes my face.

"Have I told you how much I love you?" I take her hand from it's place of rest on my cheek and kiss it.

"Everyday."

"Shame on me, that's not enough." I wrap my arms around her and hold her tight, dipping my head down so my cheek rests where our baby grows.

"You show me in other ways." She giggles and it's music.

"I never thought I could have this," I say, rubbing her belly.

"Neither did I."

And almost like kismet, _The_ _Christmas Waltz_ starts to play.

 _Frosted window panes, candles gleaming inside_

 _Painted candy canes on the tree_

 _Santa's on his way, he's filled his sleigh with things_

 _Things for you and for me..._

"Dance with me," I say, setting my brandy down and lifting her to her feet, just as Sinatra croons of the world falling in love and dreams coming true.

"Right here?" she asks.

"It's my favorite place."

"Our living room?"

"No, your arms—anywhere."

She smiles and I pull her closer, her head resting on my shoulder. And as we begin to move, I realize why I never danced with Elena that night— I was saving my Christmas waltz for my Ana.

#######

"No way! We are not going to see any Santa tomorrow who works at a mall," I say, putting my foot down—literally—as I take off my shoes while getting ready for bed.

"It's not a mall, it's a shopping center."

"What the difference?" I step out of my jeans and throw on my PJ bottoms. Honestly, has she lost her mind? I don't even know who this guy is to run a background check on—although I'll find out. But, how can I run background checks on people who haven't even decided to go shopping yet?

"It's a nice set-up they have in the town center," she says, turning her back to me and brushing her hair aside, motioning for me to unzip her dress. Please—she knows exactly what she's doing and so do I, but for the life of me I can never resist her zipper. "Please Christian, I want us to take the children."

"Ana, it's not safe."

"Why not?"

"Because nothing is safe anymore, especially not Santa Claus. That whole situation has perverse written all over it."

"just because you're a pervert, doesn't make everyone one." Her dress drops to the floor as she motions for me to unhook her bra. I do so, because my penis told me to. Fuck—how can I think clearly when her peaches are tumbling out of her baskets.

"Ana, I'm a the good kind of pervert."

"yes, you are," she laughs and turns to face me—bare chested. "Isn't there anything I can do to convince you?" She slowly unbuttons my shirt and slides it off my shoulders, then presses her chest to mine.

"Ana, I'm a man who once he decides something, he doesn't change his mind." But, my penis is more of an out-of-the-box—or rather zipper— kind of thinker.

"Ever?" she says, leaning in to whisper in my ear.

"You can't do anything to convince me to see Santa Claus at a mall.

#######

"Ana, why do we have to see Santa Claus at the mall?" I whisper, so Phoebe and Teddy can't hear, as we stand in a line with a bunch of snot-nosed kids and their even snottier-nosed parents waiting to see the big man from the north—north meaning a trailer park in some town just under Canada, not the North Pole. Trust me, I had Welch check. I should've never let her lure me into a titty fuck. That's always my downfall—especially when she's pregnant. Those melons are end of me.

"He's the best one," Ana says, holding Teddy's hand as we move up in line by a fraction of an inch. I don't think anyone new actually got up there to see him, I think someone wisely left this ridiculousness and we were shuffled ahead.

"Who says?"

"Rory Eubanks."

"Rory Eubanks! She picked that booze-hound philanderer to father of her children, how can you trust her to pick a decent Santa Claus?"

"What's a fill-hand-er-her?" Teddy asks. I didn't think he could hear me.

"A mistake you can never wash clean of."

"Daddy," Phoebe says looking up at me, tugging on me as she holds to my hand. "Why is Santy here and not in the North Pole making the gifts?" My question exactly.

"He visits local malls so the children can see him at Christmas while the elves work. He's more of a front man for the operation."

She scrunches her nose. I fear she's going to ask more questions when we're interrupted by the creepiest, smallest voice. It's as if elf-on-shelf could talk and he's hunted us down after he saw we escaped.

"Do you know what I want for Christmas?" Some kid in a too-tight Seahawks beanie, who's supposed to be behind me, but is standing uncomfortably beside me in line, asks.

"A bicycle?" I ask, dismissively. Get the fuck away! I don't want to know what you look like, let alone what you want under your tree.

He shakes his head, too slowly, and he won't take his pop-eyes off me. This kid is creeping me the fuck out! Where is his mother or father? Did he come alone?

"Power tools," he says, and for some reason I don't think he wants to build a tree house. I usher my family up and away from this weird nut as the line moves forward. This is why I don't like surprise visits to public places without background checks.

I look over to Taylor, who's standing by some cotton that's supposed to be snow, and point to the kid for him to keep an eye on.

"I see him!" Teddy says, jumping up and down.

"Yes, me too," I say, unfortunately. Some kid's on his lap blabbering on and on and he just stares out—dazed. He's not even paying attention to the kid's list! He doesn't look very authentic, either—his beard's too short, his coat's too long and the stuffing is lumpy in all the wrong places. The costume I bought for sex play with Ana is far more authentic.

Finally, after what feels like eleven years in the desert, we're ushered forward into a meager looking North Pole setup. Mine is going to be the grandest ever. I wish I could tell Ana, so we could leave this shit hole behind, but I can't yet—it has to be a surprise.

"I get to see Santa first!" Teddy says.

"No, I gets to!" Phoebe says, as they battle it out.

"Kids!" Ana says, pulling them apart. "No fighting, or no one gets to see Santa!" I'm hoping that they'll fight some more, so we can end this torture.

"Teddy, let Phoebe go first," I finally say. As much as I want us all to get the fuck out of this place, I have to teach him manners.

"Why?"

"Because you're a gentleman and ladies always go first."

"I don't wanna be a gender-man!"

"Well, like greatness, it's been thrust upon you."

He scratches his head, trying to figure what his greatness entails, and Phoebe runs up the steps to climb on the old guy's lap. None of this is making me comfortable—the jolly man, the lap sitting. Who made up this Santa lap sitting thing anyway? Probably an old pervert writer who dreamt up some story that would give him justification for hundreds of children to sit on his lap every year and all the other perverts followed in Santa suit. I'm keeping an extra close watch on this situation.

"Are you here to ask Santa for something, too?" The bearded man asks as I hover over.

"I'm just keeping watch."

He laughs, and I can't tell for sure, but his breath smells of either mint wash or peppermint schnapps—either way he's covering something up, so I'm not moving.

"What would you like little girl?" he asks Phoebe.

"I want a Mal-bi-bu Barbie house, a new more pinker sparkly pair of Cinderelly glass princess slippers with red on the under bottom, a turny round with unicorns and I really want a Dolly-Change-Her-Diaper doll and—"

"Now, that's a lot of big stuff for a little girl," he says. How about you just ask for the doll?"

"How about you let her finish with her list?" I say.

"Santa can't get all that," he says, pointed at me.

"Who says?"

"Christian!" Ana says, motioning to me to simmer down. I guess I have gotten a bit heated. But, fuck it. This guy deserves it.

"Look to the camera, little girl," Santa points and like a deer caught in headlights Phoebe looks forward as the picture is taken. "Now, go on your way." He scoots her off his lap. Normally, her off his lap would be a relief, but not like this!

"That's it?" I ask. "That's all the time you gave her? She's been wanting to talk to you for weeks. She's talked about you every night before bed! She was going to sing you the twelve days of Christmas."

"I only have time for one day of Christmas," he says. "Lots of other children to see and unfortunately parents."

"Oh yeah?" I'm about to lunge. Nobody cuts my daughter's list short and gets away with it.

"Christian, maybe we should just move along now," Ana says, encouraging with a hand wave to move myself along now. She looks like she fears a fight happening.

I look around and the entire line is staring at me. Oh fuck it! What do I care if a bunch of mindless cattle think I'm out of line. In fact, I should be proud of it.

"Don't worry, Phoebe," I say, as I pull her away, holding to her hand. "I'll make sure Santa gets your list." By way of a pink slip, shoved up his ass.

"Well, well, well," Santa says. "Who do we have here?" He's looking at my wife now!

"This is Teddy," Ana says, ushering him forward. She's so beautiful, even in these garish fluorescent lights.

"I see the boy. Who are you?" He gives her the once over—make that the thrice over—running his beady eyes all over body.

"That's my wife!" I say, taking the stage again. "And she's pregnant by me!"

Everyone looks at me. Ana walks over to me, stroking my arm in an effort to calm me, and pulls me back as Teddy hops on his lap—all business.

He takes a deep breath and then spurts out his rehearsed line. "I want a space ship."

"A little toy model?"

"No, a real one where I can go to the moon with my turkey."

"That's not a gift for a little boy. Santa couldn't possibly send you to the moon. I'll get you a football. Now say _Christmas cookies_ and smile for the camera." The flash goes off as his head's turned half-way.

"Who are you to say?" I ask. "Why are you putting limits on my kids' lists?"

"I'm just trying to help the parents out."

"Well, you don't need to help me out. If my kids want to go to the moon or have a unicorn, I'll make sure that Santa makes it happen!" I run a hand through my hair. The nerve of this guy. "And another thing—why are you trying to squash the dreams of all these kids? They should hope and wish for and get whatever they dream of."

"Can we go to him, instead?" A kid yells out, pointing to me.

"I think you'd better leave," Santa says. "Before my boot slips and kicks something."

"Did you just threaten me?" I get in his face.

He stands and gets in mine. I can't believe I'm having a face-off with Santa at the mall.

"Fight! Fight!" some kids yell.

Just as I'm about to tell him to stick it where the ho don't shine—the flash goes off.

#######

"Well, I have pictures of all three of my kids with Santa now," Ana says, as we walk back to the waiting SUV. "Thankfully, security was understanding." Of course they were now that their holidays are paid for.

"He deserved it," I say, holding Phoebe, who's falling asleep against my shoulder.

"I can't believe my Dad almost punched Santa!" Teddy says, like it's the coolest thing he's ever seen. "I'm gonna share at show and tell!"

"I didn't almost punch him. We were having a discussion." Damn, I don't want to dash their beliefs in Santa Claus. "Besides, that wasn't the real Santa."

"Really?" Phoebe asks, suddenly awaking from her nap on my shoulder.

"No, I know the real guy. He's much fatter and happier. This was a stand-in. I'm going to put a word in with the real one to have this Santa fired for false impersonation."

"So, he was just a fake, bad man and I could still get a unicorn?" Phoebe asks, her eyes wide looking up at me. Those are eyes I never want to disappoint.

"Yes, you keep dreaming whatever and as big as you want."

She tucks into my shoulder and falls asleep.

And if Dad has anything to do with it, my family's dreams will always come true. Especially at Christmas.

#######

"Where do you want the human-sized gingerbread men?" Kip, the guy in charge of the North Pole setup, asks as I watch our Christmas dreams becoming a reality in the meadow. Who would've thought when I first bought this place for Ana we'd be setting up a life-sized Candlyland board game on the lawn.

"I want them outside the workshop," I say. "Like they're greeting guests on the gumdrop pathway leading to Santa."

He gives me a look like he thinks I'm weird. But, I don't care what he fucking thinks, he's making enough. Besides, any grown man named Kip has no right to pass judgement on anything. He walks off and directs gingerbread traffic.

The yard is really taking shape. It won't be long now until Santa's village is up and running. Thankfully Ana and the kids have been at work and school all day, so as not to spoil the surprise, and they're having a play date and dinner over at Elliot and Kavanagh's tonight. Ana suspected something when I encouraged this evening get-together, but I just told her I had a late meeting. I didn't mention it was with Christmas itself.

"Sir, they're delivering all the lights!" Taylor says, rushing up. "We're just waiting for the light hangers to come to work on the design the team from the Wynn sent over."

"They're still not here? It's going to be dark when they start!"

"I should have word momentarily, sir."

Just then, Christmas is interrupted by Scrooge.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't Christian Grey and his Ho-Ho-Henchman."

Taylor and I both turn to see a face even his blind mother couldn't love. Bent. Dicks. Although Taylor is one to keep his cool in confrontational situations, I can almost see the steam escaping his ears.

"Taylor, go check on the lighting design team. I'll handle this." I don't want a fight to ensue and blood flying all over my Christmas angels.

"Yes, sir," he walks away, with one eye still on Bent.

"Bent—what brings you up to my neck of the woods? Usually you're hanging around feeding at the bottom of the hill."

"I decided to visit you in person."

"It must've been quite a hike for you. Don't get a nosebleed."

"I hear you've entered my contest," he says, with folded arms. He's so short, I can see over his head. The fucker's got a new weave.

"Yes and you can just mark me down as the winner now."

"I see you're about to put your lights up. Better hurry."

"Don't worry, it'll be done by the time of the contest on Friday."

"That's what I came to tell you, so I could see the look on your face in person."

"What are you talking about?"

"There's been a change in the schedule of events. Contest isn't Friday—it's tomorrow."

"The flyer says Friday. You can't just change the terms midway."

"Oops. It was a typo." So was his birth certificate when they marked human as his species. "All lighting has to be done and accounted for by 10am tomorrow with the presentation happening tomorrow night. Good luck with the lights, Grey."

He laughs and walks away. My drive is so big, it's a long walk. That fucker. But, he's not raining on my Christmas parade!

"Sir, there's a problem," Taylor says, rushing up to me.

"I know, but we'll just double the workforce and pay triple for them to get it all done by the new contest deadline tomorrow."

"The contest deadline is tomorrow?"

"Isn't that what you were going to tell me?"

"No, sir." He looks like he's about to tell me someone's about to shit on my head—or rather, my life. "And now we have an even bigger problem."

"What is it?"

"The lighting team is on strike, sir."

"On strike? What do you mean, strike? Like picketing and shit?"

He nods.

"What kind of holiday lighters strike at Christmas?!" This is going from bad to worse. I run both hands through my hair in double exasperation. "Who told you this?"

"The man they call Kip, sir."

I race over to Kip.

"What do you mean the lighting team is on strike?

"Exactly what I says," he says, with annoying grammatical incorrectness. Nothing annoys me more than people would can't use proper tenses—well, almost nothing. "They're not working until they get their splits negotiated."

"There's a union for Christmas light hangers?"

"Not officially. More like a small club where they all band together against the company that employs them."

"But this is their busiest time of year!"

"Yeah, so they're more likely to get their way."

"Can't some of these other guys hang my lights?"

"They all have their jobs, I can re-assign."

"Why not?"

"Union rules. Plus, that's not their area of expertise and they wouldn't cross the picket lines."

"What lines?! There's nobody picketing!" Jesus, he acts like this is the teamsters! "And why the fuck would they picket against me?! They can all quit their jobs and I'll pay them as much as they'd make the entire season!"

"It's almost five o'clock. Even if they wanted to, their union would prevent it." I thought Christmas was overly commercialized, now I realize it's overly unionized.

"Listen, I need this done!"

"Sorry, hopefully this will be resolved in a couple of days." He motions to some guy putting ice in my rink. "Hey, don't crack that shit!" He runs over to the guy.

I turn to Taylor, in a panic.

"Taylor, my lights have to be up by tomorrow!

"I could try to find some workers..."

"There's no time to run background checks! I'm not having men putting up lights that I don't know their sex offender status or their prison and voting history!"

"Well, who can we get to do it, sir?"

"There's only one person I trust—me. And you, which is also me."

"We, sir?"

"That's the one."

In a rare moment, born of desperation, thirst for revenge and mistletoe dreams, I place a hand on his shoulder.

"Time to hang some fucking lights."

 ** _To_** **_be continued..._**


	3. Chapter 3

**_Thank you for all of your kind words and holiday greetings! I love you guys! Sorry this is a bit delayed due to holiday madness. There's one more part coming and a New Years short. The next part will get a little more emotional. Should have it all out by this weekend. Thank you for all of your support! Means the world to me! xo_**

 ** _And, since some of you have asked—a Taylor POV may be in store in the new year.;)_**

"Fire up the reindeer!" I yell up to Taylor, who's standing on the roof with Santa's sleigh— the piece d'resistance we've spent the last hour trying to put together. We wound lights around it for what felt to my back like half my life, only to realize that we had to do it all over again because Rudolph's nose ended up on Blitzen's ass, making it look like he was shitting a cranberry in midair. That was nearly the last straw. I survived the animated baby snowman choir that sings _Santa Claus is Coming to Town_ via loud speaker (fucking continuously!) with jumbo flat screen accompaniment for sing-a-long purposes; the gum drop garden with twirling candy cane striped poinsettias and lollipops taller than my children that line the front walk; even Taylor and I spelling out _Hoof Stop_ in lights with a teeter-tottering flashing red arrow pointing to a landing strip on the roof we also made. But, these reindeer games—these were almost too much. I would've quit, but two things kept me going: my family's holiday happiness and fucking Bent Dicks—hard.

Taylor flips a switch and the sleigh is aglow. And boy does it fucking glow. It looks like Santa's team got struck by a comet and kept going until it hit a house. But, overall everything looks good. Rudolph's nose is on his face; the rotating lights that make the reindeer look like they're running through thin air look realistic (ten years off my life to make that happen!); even Santa's beard has a nice fluff to it—well, as fluffy as you can make it with hard wire and electricity. Just as my hopes are high that we can move on from this nightmare and onto to the next, Houston—or rather the North Pole of Seattle's got a problem.

"We have to turn it around!" I yell, motioning my arms in a circular fashion aimed at Santa's back end.

"Nice isn't it, sir?" he says, giving me an enthusiastic thumbs up. He's far too excited about Santa's ass.

"No! Turn it!" I point a finger and twirl it in the air.

"Yes, first place, Mr. Grey!" What the hell? Does he think my finger is a one and I'm already celebrating victory?

"No! It's the wrong way!"

"I can't hear you, sir! The wind really whips around up here!" It's just a little fucking breeze; he acts like he's about to be swept up and under a house with a witch in striped socks on his way to meet Oz.

"It's facing the wrong way!" I yell, louder, with hands cupped around my mouth.

"How's that, sir?"

I'm sick of having a conversation with him like we're in two separate beds of a nut house talking on a string-and-can phone, so I climb up the ladder to him. At least then we can talk nut to nut—so to speak. Fuck, it's quite a climb. I never realized my house was this high. I feel like I just scaled GEH with my fingernails and one lung. When I look down all I see are life-sized gingerbread people with no fingers and toothless smiles, who look like they're just waiting for me to fall so they can exact revenge on me for all the limbs and heads of their ancestors I broke off and ate over the years.

"Santa's got a full sack and he's flying away from the chimney, not to it!" I say, after reaching the top. Any man should see the problem in that.

"Maybe he's finished his fun with this house, his presents have been left under this tree and he's happily on his way to take the toys still in his sack to put under another tree before he's been found out by the first tree, sir."

Why do I think he's speaking from experience? I wonder if Taylor got discovered putting packages under other trees in other houses in his first marriage by not making a quick enough getaway.

"People want to see Santa coming, not going." Doesn't Taylor know anything about delayed gratification and the art of anticipation? Funny, Santa Claus and the playroom have a lot in common—they're both red, carry toys and give you a helluva surprise gift in the end.

"Maybe if we just angle the sleigh a little, Mr. Grey. To make it appear like it's headed in the direction of the lading strip, but nothing really hits..." If this sounds like a good idea to him, I suddenly feel sorry for Gail. Since when did Taylor get so lazy? Probably since he hung 10,751 lights on one apple tree. But, damn does it look like ice dripping into a peppermint cocoa river.

"Listen, I'm not looking forward to busting my balls on whatever barbed wire shit this thing is made of..." And I'm not kidding. I nearly made six children an impossibility for Ana and me after a sharp turn by Donner's ear. "But, we're not half-assing this." I give Taylor a meaningful finger point. "Because nobody ever won the Ho-Ho-House decorating contest using half their ass."

"Yes, sir."

"Besides, everyone entered in this thing is already a complete asshole, so we have to be double."

He nods. I don't know if he's agreeing or if he's just trained that way, but whatever the case all asses are in it to win it.

"Lift the sleigh on the count of three," I say, as he grabs the front and I grab the back. "One, two—" He lifts the sleigh, throwing me backwards and nearly knocking me into my ice skating bears on the frozen rooftop pond. "I said wait until three!"

"I thought it would be a quicker count, sir."

Finally, he gets his numbers right and we lift the thing. We huff and we puff and we nearly blow my satellite dish down as we flip it around. Finally, after seven or eight minutes of agony and another close call with pointy ended reindeer parts on my manhood, we get it facing right—or rather left, which is actually right.

"What's next?" I pant, and he picks up the list to read. The sweat dripping down my face tastes like a mixture of blood, dirt and plastic that was set on fire. But, I don't have time to wash up or bandage scrapes, I have 107,453 more lights to hang.

"We have to raise the sleigh onto a wire and tilt it in a downward slope so it appears in flight and close to landing on our strip, Mr. Grey."

"You're fucking kidding me!" I grab the sheet from his hand. He's not. "Where do we attach the wire?" It's getting so dark, even with this sleigh blaring next to me, I have to pull out my iPhone flashlight.

"I believe we use these poles they gave us on both sides of this section of the roof." He picks up some large metal polls, a long piece of wire and some electrical tape.

"We're supposed to hang this whole fucking sleigh on this little piece of wire?" I lift the wire up. I've flossed with stuff thicker than this. I've done other stuff, too.

"That's the impression I get, sir."

"Impression? You mean you don't know for sure?"

"That's what it appears on the drawing."

I look. He's right, that's what's drawn. I can't help but feeling there must be more to this.

"Why are there no fucking directions spelled out on any of this?"

"Spelled out, sir?"

"Yes, like in letters! Like a cookbook, but for Christmas extravaganzas."

"I believe it's because the lighting crew would've already known how to do all this, sir." Oh yes, the lighting crew who's more worried about fifty cent pay raises from their boss than defecting and getting a year's salary plus benefits like medical, dental and trips to the Virgin Islands from me. Who said everyone is a sell out these days? Not the fucking greater Seattle area Christmas lighter's association. You can trust them with everything but getting the job done.

We each take a pole and I grab the wire.

"Okay, if we want to suspend the body properly and bring the sleigh in for a landing, the ass has to be up and the face down." I know first hand about the rules of suspension. And thankfully Ana got over her initial hesitation about year three into our marriage and it's been all ass up and face down ever since.

"Yes, sir."

"Yes, sir, what?" I forgot what we were talking about. I'm too busy thinking about Ana's ass in the air.

"Suspension from the rear up, sir."

"Oh right."

We both work to tie our wire to opposite poles. Taylor's is shorter and skinnier than mine, of course.

Just then, my phone rings. Speak of the devilish angel—it's Ana. It's like she can sense when I'm tying things up when she isn't around. Such the green-eyed goddess.

"Baby, what's going on?" I ask, trying to sound as casual as possible. It's difficult when you're hoisting Santa's back end up and onto your pole.

"Why do you sound out of breath?"

"I just went for a run." God, I hate lying to her, but it's for a good cause. And she's the one who made me promise over the weekend to lie in the spirit of Christmas. Plus, it isn't a total lie—I have been running all over our roof and creation in general.

"I thought you had a meeting," she says. I can hear the suspicion in her voice.

"I did. I needed to burn off some energy."

"Is something wrong?"

"No! All is fine! You know how the Taiwanese get me all steamed up." That came out wrong. And weird... She's going to think you're up to something, Grey!

"You're up to something, Grey!" I knew it! She's using her pinpoint intuition and is about to read me. Those blue eyes can see the truth in me, even through the phone.

"What could I possibly be up to?"

"I don't know, that's what I'm afraid of."

"Santa's head is on my pole!" Taylor calls out, far too loudly and with too much delight.

I wave my hand to hush him up.

"Was that Taylor?"

"No. I mean, yes, he's around."

"What is he around for?"

"He's always around. There's rarely a reason for it."

Once secured, he gives me a nod and we both let go of our of ends. It looks good, until the sleigh starts swinging from left to right in time with the wind.

"We're coming back now," Ana says.

"No!"

"What?"

"I mean, what about dinner? I'm sure Kate's ready to wine and dine over there." More like she dialed up for Chinese and drank half a bottle while she did it. "But, don't drink!"

"We already ate. An hour ago."

I look at the time on my phone. Fuck, it's so far after seven it's practically eight.

"Have you and Kate had enough girl talk?"

"Okay, now I know you're up to something!"

"No, I just don't want you driving right now. There's an awful wind that's kicked up."

The awful wind's kicked up Comet's hoof into my head.

"Fuck!"

"What?"

"I'm just looking at the wind outside." And the blood on my fingers that came from my near skull fracture. "I'll have Sawyer come get you."

"Sawyer is already here." Double fuck.

"Okay, well just wait another hour."

"Christian—"

"Okay, I admit it—I have a surprise for you and the kids. I just need a little more time. I love you, baby." I hang up before she can say more and text Sawyer in shouty capitals to: FUCKING STALL.

"Damn, it is windy up here!" I say, as Santa's sleigh swings back and forth in pendulum fashion, making any hopes for a landing we may have, rough. "I'm not sure those poles are secure enough."

"What should we do, sir?"

"Use the electrical tape!" That always works in a bind.

"Where, sir?"

"Where things are flying around!"

My phone rings. Fuck, if this is Ana again... No, it's Dan Lumis, my shithead neighbor with the marital problems and hemorrhoid issues. What the fuck does he want? Probably to talk extensively about both. You listen for one minute to some idiots and they think you're their fucking psychiatrist. I ignore it. I start helping with the electrical tape and he rings me again!

"What, Dan?" I finally answer.

"I think someone is trying to break into your property."

"What? No."

"Yep! I can see two shadowy figures messing around by your chimney."

"I'm sure it's nothing—"

"I just called your wife and she said none of you were home, but I definitely see two people on your rooftop!"

"You called my wife?!" How the hell did he even get her number? And why did he feel fancy free enough to use it before he called me? This has me more pissed off than him spying on my rooftop activities.

"Yeah, she seemed alarmed."

"Of course she was! You just told her someone was breaking into our house!"

Fuck. My other line rings. It's Ana again. I press to take her call.

"Everything is fine, Ana!"

"But, Dan Lumis says—"

"He's wrong!"

"How would you know, you're not home?"

Fuck.

"Because he's wrong about everything. He's an idiot, it's well documented. His wife said so in a court of law."

"But, Christian—"

"Nothing's happening—" Wait a second, this is how I keep her away. "I mean, I'm sure nothing is happening, but just to be on the extra safe side I want you and the kids to stay far away from this situation. I won't risk your safety and well being. Even if you have to spend the whole night over there and I wouldn't see you until tomorrow at five." Just before the contest.

"I'm scared, Christian."

"Don't be, I'm handling it. I'll call you in a bit, baby. Nothing to worry about. Just stay put."

I click back over.

"Dan, stop watching my fucking house! There's no one breaking in—"

"I'm looking at them now—one of them is waving a flashlight in the air." No, that's just me waving my arms around in sheer exasperation.

"How are you seeing all this?"

"With binoculars."

"Why the hell do you have binoculars pointed at my house?" What the fuck? Does he watch us all the time? Is he trying to see Ana in the nude or in her swimming attire? No wonder he called her, he probably wondered if there was some night action going on that he could be a part of.

"I saw light and movement, so I pulled out my special pair to search," he says. I'm not even going to touch that one. But, I think it's the reason his wife filed for the big D.

"No one is breaking in, Dan! Do you need it messaged over in triplicate?" I would tell him the truth, but I don't want to give anyone a hint as to what I'm doing. "The security system would see if there's a problem."

"It's been going on for awhile and I haven't heard any sirens."

"That's because there's no problem! Happy Holidays! And stop calling my wife!"

Click.

 _"Oh come all ye faithful..."_

"Fuck! The carolers!" I can see them in those old cloaks that have belonged to the Sunday School since the time of Dickens belting out an off-tune tune on the Ditmeyer's lawn. _Please don't buzz the gate to my property._ They'll see me up here and I'll have to respond, as opposed to what I usually do—ignore them and turn off the front lights. But, then Ana usually hears them, turns the lights back on and invites them in for cookies and punch and my night is completely ruined with twenty-five choruses of _We Wish You a Merry Christmas_ —most of which I think were made up. Maybe _Granny Dit_ —as she likes to be called by the kids for some odd reason— will keep them occupied for awhile. She always asks for seconds and thirds of _Deck the Halls_ sung in rounds. She gets off on how one starts the chorus and the other one waits like five seconds to start their part and so on and so on. It's like she's fucking watching Star Wars.

"Well, at least we have festive tunes to decorate by," Taylor says.

"What are you talking about? This baby snowman choir has been singing about us up on this rooftop for three hours straight!" Damn those baby snowmen!

"I think we need to secure this pole down the chimney, sir."

"I don't want a pole sticking out of my chimney."

"You won't notice it if we wrap it with lights."

"No, that way you'll notice it more!"

This isn't ideal, but he's right. We need more security with the poles. I move to help him stick it in the chimney.

"It's too far down; Santa's too close to the chimney! He looks like he's about to crash."

We both move to pull it up, but it won't budge.

"Pull harder, Taylor."

"I can't, sir. I think it's caught on something."

"Fuck! It's dark down here!I" I say, sticking my head down the chimney. "I can't see where we put it." I point my iPhone flashlight and move it around until it's in view. "It's caught between some bricks." I try and reach my hand down, but it's impossible to grab.

" _Silver Bells... Silver Bells..."_

I can hear the carolers getting closer. I look. They're at the house below mine—The Francinis—which is still a good hike away, but still it's too close. And caroler feet move fast.

"What happened to your hand, sir?" he asks, looking at my black sooty paw.

"It touched my soul." I roll my eyes and wipe it on my jeans. "Taylor, crawl down the chimney!"

"Excuse me, sir?"

"I need you to dislodge the pipe from the bricks while I supervise."

"Crawl in, sir? Like with my feet?"

"No, you can't see anything with your feet! The front end, so you can grab it." He looks confused. "Make diving hands and go on in. I'll hold you." Now confusion has morphed into terror. Is the trust between us so thin?

Reluctantly, he steps over to the bricks, kneels down, and like he's sacrificing himself to the gods, sticks his head inside. He's so dramatic. I grab hold of his feet—Jesus, they're Sasquatch like. He nearly takes me out with his toes—as he inches his way down. Then he stops.

"Did you find the spot?"

"No, I can't move."

"What's wrong?"

"I think my chest is too big for this, sir."

"What? No, keep going. You've got plenty of room." He's not a abominable beast—barely.

I edge him down a little farther, until he really can go no more.

"I have it, sir!"

"Good! I'll pull you up."

I pull him, but he doesn't move—he's stuck.

"Taylor, suck in your gut!"

"It's not my gut, sir. It's my rib cage and pectorals." He would try to brag about the size of his pecks at a time like this.

"Just shimmy a little."

"What does that mean, sir?"

"You know—shimmy." How do I explain shimmying to a guy like Taylor? Shimmying isn't the sport of a gorilla. "Move around a little until you feel air in places again."

He wiggles and frees up a little space, but as he does this Santa's slay starts swinging, encouraged by the wind. Jesus, if he shimmies anymore Santa's going to have a crash landing. He moving around his lower region like he's John Travolta all of a sudden and he's got the fever of a Saturday night.

"Hold your hips still, Taylor. I'm going to get you out!"

 _"We wish you a Merry Christmas..."_

The carolers! Well, at least I closed the gate... But, why are they getting closer? Why are they walking up the drive? Why are they lining up and singing right in front of me? Fuck, I didn't close the gate!

"Just one verse tonight, kids," I say as they finish the first verse and then immediately start in on the second. They don't even care that I'm on the roof with a man head first and halfway down the chimney. It's like they're pre-programmed to just keep on singing come rain, come snow, come POLICE SIRENS!

"Oh shit."

"What, sir?"

"Just stay calm and don't move!"

"I can't move, sir."

About twenty police cars are charging down the road. For a moment I allow myself to think that they're not coming for me, then common sense takes over—that fucker Dam Lumis called the cops!

Within seconds the house is surrounded!

I look up and see a police helicopter and two others from news stations swarming overhead. Of course cable news is here; they always come running when they smell blood. They don't realize the ratings gold they have here—Billionaire family burglarized by themselves. The police light shines down on me.

Suddenly the gates open and cop cars speed up the drive—lights and sirens blaring. Damn it, why didn't I shut the gate?!

"What's going on, sir?" Taylor's words echo from place in his hole.

"I think we're being arrested for breaking into our own house."

"Put your hands over your head!" A cop says over a mega phone.

"They are!" Taylor says, but nobody hears him but me.

"What the hell is happening?!" I ask.

The carolers have finally stopped their singing and are now screaming.

"Run!" Their teenage chaperone tells them and they flee. That's one way to get rid of them.

"What are you doing up there?" The cop on the megaphone yells.

"Putting up my Christmas lights! This is my house!"

"Put your weapon down"

"What weapon?"

"In your hand!"

I look to my hand. I'm holding onto the end of the pole.

"This isn't a weapon, this is a pole—to hang my sleigh."

"Well, let go of it." I do and the sleigh starts to wobble.

"Listen, I can explain!"

Just then, the wind kicks up and starts talking for me. I don't like what it's saying. The sleigh starts to swing. I try to catch it, but I can't. Like it's Christmas Eve and Santa's late for his last drop, it flies through the night and into the crowd, crashing into the window of a cop car.

"Taylor?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Do you have the checkbook?"

#######

It's nearly 6pm on judgement day and the neighborhood is aglow. It's not just me who's gone all out—the Bensons, the O'galleys, The Chous... Even that cheap bastard Joe Mortimer sprung for a paltry string across his awning. He probably dug it out of someone's trash, but it's the spirit that counts. But, not one can touch my spirit—I'm like Christmas past, present and future all rolled into one and lit on fire. Taylor and I—after the cops all left with their entire holidays paid for by the Grey family dime—spent the entire night patching up that sleigh and finishing the decor. And though today I feel like a truck hit me, I also feel like a winner.

"So, what is this surprise that you've been working on that almost got you arrested last night?" Ana asks, sitting beside me in the back of the SUV as we head for home with the kids. I was going to try and keep my rooftop run-in with the authorities hush-hush, but I can't keep secrets from my Ana. Like I said, she extracts the truth from me with her eyes. Plus, carolers talk and it was all over the news.

"Patience Ana," I say.

Daddy, did you get almost 'rested last night?" Teddy asks me, bouncing up and down on his seat like grasshopper. How does this kid have so much energy at the end of the day?

"No, Daddy got no rest last night, son. Trust me." I rub my eyes that are so puffy they rival the marshmallows in my cocoa river. l hope Taylor remembered to turn the heater on for that thing. I don't want chocolate milk instead of hot Christmas cocoa flowing in my rapids.

"I'm sure Daddy will get plenty of rest tonight." Ana says, pointedly my way. "I'm going to make sure all Daddy gets is sleep." Fuck, is she saying no sex?! She can't still be mad at me! Maybe she'll change her mind once she sees everything. Either that or instead of dessert tonight, it'll be all desert.

"Slow down! I want to check out the competition!" I say, as Taylor drives us toward home. He doesn't even look tired. Even when we finished at seven this morning and we basically went straight to the office, he didn't miss a beat. Which makes me wonder if he's not really one of those vampires that never needs to sleep and just hang upside down all night. I shake my head; this lack of sleep is making my thoughts batty—literally.

"Look Daddy, it's the man with the fires in his lunch baggies!" Phoebe says, pointing out the window. That fucking luminaria guy is at it again, lining the sidewalks and driveways with his bags. He's so obsessed with those things, I wonder what he does the rest of the year. He forces them on everyone like he's some sort of candle-in-a-sack rapist.

I open the window and he looks up at me. "Hey, don't put those sacks of sand by my house!"

"I'll put sacks of something else by your house! My sh—"

I shut the window before he can finish.

"Chester, do you like the lights?" Phoebe asks the rodent who is now perched on her shoulder dressed in a emerald green jogging suit.

"Where did he come from?" I ask.

"Uncle Taylor brought him for me."

I give Taylor a look. He shrugs. He can't say no to my girl. Who am I kidding?—neither can I.

"What is that thing on Reardon's lawn?" I point to what I think is supposed to be a snowman, but looks more like white boxes stacked up and something sticking out of the top of what's supposed to be the face.

"I believe that's a snowman made of teeth and his nose is a toothbrush, sir," Taylor says.

I look closer as we pass. He's right; those are three stacked up molars. Leave it to that dentist to make a mockery of holiday decor by using this contest to advertise his practice. I guess he figures even if he doesn't win, he wins.

"Okay, everyone get ready!" I say, clapping my hands together. I was probably a bit too loud and enthusiastic, considering everyone jumped.

"We gotta get ready to go home?" Teddy asks. "I thought that's where we get unready in our pajamas."

"You're not going home," I say, building the suspense in my voice. "You're going some place far more magical." Why do I suddenly sound like I'm British and my boxer briefs are too tight?

"We are?" Phoebe asks, eyes large.

"Christian, why are you acting so strange?" Ana asks.

"I'm not strange, I'm excited!" I clap my hands again. Chester flashes his teeth. "Because we're about to enter Christmas Land!"

We reach the house and the gates open to my world to the tune of _White Christmas_ played on loud speakers. And boy is it white—and red and green and silver and gold... They've done an excellent job with that snow fluff everywhere. And the bricks they've made to look like ice blocks are truly a sight to behold.

"Christian, what on earth?" Ana says, looking out the window at something the likes of which neither she, nor the earth, has ever known.

Taylor stops the car and I help Ana and the children out.

"What are we doing?" Ana asks.

"Taking a sleigh ride." I point to a sleigh.

"You got real reindeer?" she asks.

"They're actors on loan from a Hollywood tamer," I whisper in her ear.

"Daddy, it's Rudolph!" Phoebe says, pointing to the one in front with the red nose. I'm glad that thing stayed on. He was more ornery than we thought. Taylor has a hoof print in the nuts to prove it.

"We'll have to feed them magical carrots later to get them to fly." If you'd have told me seven plus years ago that I'd say that—ever—I'd have sent you to Flynn.

I help my family into the sleigh and we're off. Thankfully the professional sleigh operator doesn't talk much. I value that in employees.

We dash through the fake snow along what used to be the drive up to our house, but is now Candy Cane Lane—there's even a hand painted sign by an artist from France. He's the number one street sign painter in the world. I don't know how you get that title, but I don't fucking care as long as my signs look good. And they do! The apple trees blink red and white and mechanical Christmas characters say holiday greetings in seventeen languages. My favorite is Scrooge and Tiny Tim speaking in Japanese.

"Is that Santa's house?" Teddy asks, pointing in the distance all the way down Reindeer Road—there's a sign for that, too.

"Yes, and there's the workshop where they make the toys." I point.

"Santy lives with us now?" Phoebe asks, awed.

"When he's not in the North Pole."

"Daddy, there's little mans running in our yard!" Phoebe squeals.

"No, those are the elves."

"You got elves, too?" Ana asks.

"They're here to pass out cocoa from the river to the neighbors." I'm glad they all got here on time. They were at a Christmas carnival in Tacoma until noon. They're such divas—they demanded first class accommodations and triple pay just because they won first prize in their elf division. I don't know what they had to do. I think it involved synchronized marching and timed toy assembly.

The kids are spellbound. Watching them watch all this is the best Christmas present I could ever ask for.

"How did you do all of this?" Ana asks.

"I have to admit, the grounds were done by professionals, but Taylor and I did all the lights on the entire house by ourselves."

"This is what you were doing?"

I nod.

"This is—"

"Breathtaking? Awe inspiring?" I hope...

"Crazy!" I frown, but then she smiles. "But, incredible." I'm awarded for my efforts with a kiss.

We arrive at the house and I help my family out.

"Why is the house dark?" she asks.

"I'm waiting to light it for the contest. I want it to be a surprise."

"Daddy, this is the coolest ever!" Teddy runs and attaches himself to my leg like a monkey. "We get to live in Christmas!"

"Yay, Daddy!" Phoebe says and attaches herself to my other leg. No need for further gifting—I got matching Grey leg weights for Christmas. "When does the fairy make your lights twinkle?"

"When I tell Taylor to flip the switch, which won't be long now."

"Well, well, well, if it isn't my old buddy, Grey," I hear Bent Dicks before I see him, because he's so fucking short and blends into things like the Hobbit. He's nearly out of breath, surely from the trek up to my place from his shack at the end of town. He was so eager to live in my neighborhood he bought a closet.

I move away from Ana and the kids to see what the fucker wants.

"What is it, Bent?"

"I saw you caught soot-handed on the news last night. I have to admit, I didn't think you'd get all of this done in time. I underestimated you, Grey."

"That seems to be an issue with you—small thinking."

He laughs, but no sound comes out. Except if you listen closely you can hear every pore in his body screaming asshole.

"Impressive that you got your lights hung in time. Must be all your muscle." Is he looking at my muscles? Things just got strange.

"I saw you did, too. Of course it only took half a strand to cover everything."

"You know you're still not going to win."

"Oh yeah, how?"

"I've handpicked the judges. They fucking hate you."

"Everyone hates me me, but I still always win."

"Not with this trio."

"Who?"

"Do the names Mickey Hill, Jim Freebanks and Lily Landmarker ring a bell?" Mickey Hill—the guy I beat the shit out of in the eighth grade for calling my sister cute. Jim Freebanks—the guy I fired for failing a drug test and spared no mercy after he claimed it was only "one bad weekend with a hooker at a rave—maybe two." And who the fuck is Lily Landmarker? Lily... Lily...

"Lily? That friend of my sister?"

"She's no friend of yours. She has a big problem with you, Grey."

"What did I ever do to her?"

"Nothing. That's her problem—and my solution."

"Are you saying you've purposely sabotaged me with the votes?" Damn, these people hold grudges. I thought Lily got married to a chiropractor. Maybe she did and he's not adjusting her correctly.

"I'm saying I've waited a long time for this day." He raises a brow that has more hair on it than his whole head—weave included. "As long as one other house has lights on, they win and you lose."

"This is absolutely illegal! You're saying there's no way I can possibly win?" How the fuck did this guy get dictatorial reign over this contest, anyway?

"Oh—it's possible. Only if everyone else's lights are out and you're the lone man standing." He eyes me up and down. Does this man have a thing for me that I never knew about? Is this the source of his wrath?

He walks off, laughing along my red and green jolly bricked road as he goes. I think I even saw him skip. One of the elves approaches him with a cup of cocoa.

"Don't give him anything!" I yell and the elf pulls it away from his greedy paws, quite violently. I'm about to tackle him, but I realize my children are watching. I plan to have Welch get him in trouble with the IRS Instead. I walk back to my family, defeated. That's not a feeling I'm familiar with, nor do I want to get to know well.

"What's wrong?" Ana asks.

"This stupid contest. I'm going to call the whole thing off." I run two hands through my hair and pull.

"No Daddy, I wanna see the lights!" Teddy says, jumping up and down.

"Yeah, me too!" Phoebe says. "I want to see what Daddy did for us!" And in that moment, it hits me. I didn't do all this for some stupid contest. Sure, it was an added incentive to beat Bent Dicks to a proverbial bloody pulp. But, I did it for the three most important smiles in my life—my son, my daughter and my wife.

"I'm sorry I said that; I'm not calling it off. I can't wait for you guys to see it!" I reach my hand out to Ana and she takes it. I pull her in close and kiss her hair as the kids hug around us both. I have all three holding onto me. Holding on to a body I thought could never be touched.

This is Christmas.

"Sir," Taylor comes up. I notice he got most of the soot off from last night. He's not dark charcoal like he was this morning, only one shade of gray...

"What is it?" I ask.

"The judges are here."

I look around to see three of the most miserable people walking the earth—all who wish I would leave it.

"Is that Lily?" Ana asks. Lily gives her the once over and scowls. Damn that woman is vile. She missed her calling; she could make a fortune as an actor playing creatures from black lagoons.

"Unfortunately, yes."

"Grey," Mickey says as he steps up to me, but he says no more. And thank God for that—his breath smells like it got lost in the sewer for a long holiday, two days after the feast of the seven fishes.

"Who's about to be assed out after doing their job now?" Freebanks asks. "Huh? Huh?" I can see the drug use wasn't a one time thing. I pull my family back.

Lily walks over to us and does her impression of a smile. It's less happy and more like a shark with a bad episode of gas. She still hasn't fixed those overly bleached snaggleteeth.

"Lily, lovely to see you. You remember my wife and children."

"I'm married now, too. And happy!" She says _happy_ like it's a dagger to be used to stab me.

The judges move into judging position, which is really just standing there and waiting for something to happen.

"Are you excited to see it, guys?" I ask the kids, as I pull Ana in closer.

"Yay! Lights, Daddy!" they holler. Even Chester looks excited. That jogging suit he's wearing makes him look less like he's about to exercise and more like he's about to bust out a hard core rap.

"Ready, sir?" Taylor calls out to me.

"Ready!" I call back.

And with a flip of the switch the house is ablaze.

"Wow, Daddy!" Teddy says. I can see the twirling snowflakes dancing in his eyes.

"I never seen so many lights in all my life," Phoebe says.

"In all 4.4 years?" I ask, smiling down at her, and petting her hair.

She nods, mouth open wide in awe.

"It is amazing, Christian." Ana tilts her head up to me. "You did all this?"

"Yes, for you." I kiss her forehead and take a moment to enjoy the scent of her hair. "For my family," I whisper against her brow.

Mine.

Suddenly the lights start to flicker.

"What's happening?" Ana asks.

"Is this part of the show?" Teddy asks.

"Yay a show!" Phoebe squeals. "Is Santy coming?"

"No," I say, watching the sleigh lights flash on and off. "I think he's going!"

I run over to Taylor.

"This isn't right. Do something!"

All of a sudden the lights go out. But, not just mine. The lights of the entire neighborhood. I've taken out the grid!

"Taylor! Start the generators!" Thankfully, I'm always prepared.

"Right away, sir!"

He runs to the garage.

"Christian!" Ana calls out. "Where are you?"

I turn on my iPhone flashlight. Damn this little thing comes in handy.

"I'm right here, baby."

I make my way back to them.

"I'm scared of the dark!" Phoebe holds to me.

"It's okay, I'll keep you guys safe."

The only thing good about the pitch black is that I don't have to look at Lily. Oh wait, she must be smiling— I can see her teeth.

After a few minutes my lights flicker and then they're back on.

"Yay!" The kids cheer as the bears begin to skate again and the snowmen begin to sing.

"I wonder when everyone's power will come back on?" Ana asks, always concerned with the well being of the neighbor-kind.

"They'll be fine."

I turn and look down at the pitch black hill down below.

"The neighborhood is dark," I say, coming to that suddenly wonderful realization.

"Yes, I know. All those pretty lights are out."

"Yes!" I hold my arms up in the air and shout. "The neighborhood is dark!"

I run over to the edge of the hill that looks out over the community. I probably look insane, but I don't fucking care—the neighborhood is dark!

"I won!" I yell, holding my hands high in victory as my words echo. "I won!"

"Damn you, Grey!" Bent's voice echoes back. That's right Bent, cheaters may sometimes prosper, but fuckers never do!

And like that, amidst the darkness, the Ho-Ho-House King has been crowned.

#######

"I'm happy you won tonight," Ana says, crawling into bed with me as I lay flat on my back. No part of me can move—well almost no part. Those tits in that satin number are getting something moving. I hope she's changed her mind about the _no sex_.

"Who would've thought the generators I bought would come in so handy," I say. "See, it's wise to plan ahead for a cloudy day. You never know when those clouds might turn into rain and flooding and disaster..."

"You're always such an optimist."

She looks absolutely delicious in her nighty. I can't resist a nibble.

"What are you doing?" she asks as I take her earlobe between my teeth and simultaneously stroke her hardening nipple.

"Celebrating."

I move my lips to her chest. Kissing her through the satin of her gown until I reach her belly. I inch her nighty up so I can feel her bare skin on my lips.

"We definitely have a football player here." I kiss her ever-expanding bump.

"You know it's a wonderful thing you built that Christmas wonderland in our yard."

"You like it?" I smile against her belly and kiss my way farther down. To my delight, Ana's not wearing panties. Good girl.

"I love it," she purrs and bucks around as I nuzzle her. "Because now we can host the Kreative Kidz Christmas party on Christmas Eve day.

I stop and look up.

Oh. Fuck.

 ** _To be continued..._**


	4. Chapter 4

**_The last part of the story is still coming. This is an extra part I was inspired to write. Hope you enjoy! Thank you for all your reviews and holiday wishes! xox_**

"What do you mean my company's been devalued to nothing?" I ask from my quickly diminishing seat of power in my office at GEH. It's Christmas Eve and the markets have plummeted. I watch with horror the news ticker tape on a flatscreen overhead reporting devastation across the globe. And worse, it's my company's downfall that started this domino effect. "It's impossible to be worth nothing when you're a billionaire!"

"Your company being on the verge of bankruptcy and collapse isn't your biggest problem, Mr. Grey," Whelan, my banker, says. He never visits me at work unless his dollar is on the line. We must really be in trouble for him to be here on a holiday in a three piece suit. He's either dressing for the hope of turnaround success or my funeral.

"It sounds pretty fucking big to me. How did all this happen?"

I look out the window. Snow is coming down in buckets. When was the last time Seattle had a blizzard like this?—especially on Christmas.

"Seems a deposit was supposed to be made today for seventy million dollars. It never happened and checks were issued and cashed before anyone realized the mistake. The Taiwanese wrote their own checks, so did the Canadians. It snowballed all because of your missing money. Russia is in collapse because of you."

"Russia?"

He nods.

"I don't even fucking deal with Russia."

"Your reach is wide, Grey."

"What the hell were these checks I wrote for?"

"Christmas bonuses."

"I'm paying seventy million dollars in Christmas bonuses? No wonder I'm going under!"

The TV screen reads: _Will Christian Grey cancel Christmas?_ There's some paparazzi picture of me with a Grinch hat photoshopped on and videos of kids crying outside of some suburban Toys R Us.

"There has to be some mistake!" I say.

"No mistake, Grey. And it gets worse..."

This shit keeps escalating. Next thing I know the Feds will be after me!

"The Feds are after you!" Fuck, I spoke too soon. "They think you embezzled the money. You'll have to sell the houses, the boat, the cars..."

"No, not the R8s!"

He nods.

"And not Ana's view!"

He nods again. Each nod a hammer of a nail in my proverbial coffin. He wasn't just dressing for my funeral, he's the director.

"But, I promised her that view for the rest of her life. She's not even 30!"

He leans over my desk, palms flat on the wood.

"Any minute now there's going to be a warrant out for your arrest and that will be the end of yours."

"Wait, I sent Taylor to the bank to oversee the accounts. He'll get to the bottom of this!"

Without saying goodbye to Whelan, I race out my door past Andrea. I stop and do a double take. She's wearing large diamond earrings and a fur coat. She's like Cruella Deville, but more Zsa Zsa alley cat than Dalmatian dog.

"Why are you wearing all that?" I ask, as I grab my own coat.

"I charged it in anticipation of my Christmas bonus, Mr. Grey." She strokes her sleeves. "I want to nab a man in this jacket." I don't think she could nab a hyena in that thing if it was still warm with the meat on it. These bonuses have gotten way out of hand!

"Send it back!" I yell as I run for the elevator.

Buckets of snow are coming down as I run out front. I see Taylor standing by the SUV that's parked in its usual spot at the curb.

"Taylor, there's been a huge misunderstanding. Tell me you made the deposit okay!"

He says nothing.

"Tell me, Taylor!"

He still says nothing.

"Why aren't you speaking?"

"You told me to tell you I made the deposit okay."

"And?"

"I can't say that, sir."

"What? What do you mean? You didn't make the deposit?"

"I lost it, sir."

"The check?"

"The cash."

"You brought it in cash?!"

He nods.

"Why the fuck would you do that?"

"It seemed like a good idea at the time, sir." I momentarily wonder how the hell he got his hands on seventy million in cash, but I have other more pressing questions that need answers right now.

"Where the fuck did you leave it?"

He starts frantically digging around in the back seat of the car.

"What are you doing now?"

"Looking for it, sir." He lifts a seat cushion, but only finds a box of raisins with a jack-o-lantern on the front that one of the kids must've covertly discarded on Halloween.

"You're not going to find seventy million dollars under seat cushions!"

"They're large cushions, sir." What, did this guy take his idiot pills this morning? Or did he forget to take something else?

"Retrace your steps! What did you do right after you dropped me off?" My tension is so high I think my blood vessel just popped off my forehead and ended up stuck on the Space Needle.

"I can't remember. All this snow has me so confused."

The snow really is coming down now.

"I don't care how much snow there is, you can still remember seeing seventy million dollars!"

"I went to Starbucks," he says, like he's had a sudden caffeine transfusion to his memory.

"With all that money?"

"No, with my gift card from Gail."

"The money, Taylor! I don't give a rat's ass how you paid for your macchiato!" Not that the giving of rodent rear is a valuable currency by any means. Well, except for Chester, but that's just because he wears designer slacks.

"I took your shirts to be cleaned! Maybe it got caught up in the bag."

"That would be a fucking ginormous bag!"

"It was a lot of shirts, sir."

"You're telling me you took my shit to the cleaners and had my money laundered—literally?" If I wasn't so fucking furious I'd have to laugh.

"Maybe if I call them—"

"They're not giving that money back! They're expanding in five locations on the Cayman Islands as we speak!"

I grab him by the collar.

"You know what this means, don't you, Taylor? It means bankruptcy and poverty and jail!"

"We'll find it, sir." Even as he says it, I know he's not confident.

Suddenly, a swarm of paparazzi gather. Flashbulbs go off in my face.

"Just take me home to Ana!" I yell to Taylor. I just need to hold her right now. Maybe fuck her senseless over the kitchen island and again in a steaming hot shower so I can think straight again.

I fight my way through the paparazzi and jump into the SUV and we're off.

"Ana!" I say, running into the house. Why does this place look so run down all of a sudden? The paper is peeling off the walls and the wood of the floors creaks. What happened to my mosaic tiling and Persian rugs? Everything looks like it's been rejected from my grandparents attic.

I enter the great room and see Ana next to our lopsided tree, surrounded by a herd of snot nosed children I don't know and Teddy, who's playing We _Wish You a Merry Christmas_ on the piano. Since when did he learn to play like that?

"Christian! You're home!" Ana says, waddling up to me with tinsel in her hand and a belly about to burst. So much for a quickie over the granite, she's practically in labor.

"Ana, why are you walking around? You could give birth any minute!"

She laughs and gives me a kiss.

"Christian, stop teasing. You know I'm only three months along." She's been saying that for the past twelve. How much bigger can she possibly get before she explodes?

"Who are all these kids?" I ask, looking at the group of boys congregating around Ana and staring at me.

"Your children," Ana says, like I'm funny. Funny ha-ha, not funny peculiar like I'm going the fuck insane—which I am.

"My kids? Where did they all come from?"

"You know where!" She laughs and rolls her eyes.

"No, I mean... Why do we have so many?" The boys continue to stare at me, blank eyed like the Stepford Sons of Anarchy. "No offense, fellas." I assume none taken, because they have no response.

"The shot keeps failing," she shrugs.

"Why do we keep going to Dr. Greene? I think she's purposely sabotaging our birth control." She keeps the Grey babies coming so the checks will. Ana laughs like it's a fucking joke. Sure, it's all fun and games to have thirteen little surprises when you're a billionaire, but when you're a pauper Papa you gotta count your dimes.

"You all better get scholarships!" I yell.

These other children scare me. I look at their faces and they're eerily familiar—they all look like me. I see myself at two and four and six... I close my eyes and shake my head, hoping they'll go away, but when I open them again, they're still there.

"Did you bring home the wreath?" Ana asks, helping me take off my coat.

"What wreath?"

"The Merry Christmas wreath from work."

"Why the hell would I do that? Nobody wants a circle of dead grass to celebrate anything!"

"Daddy, how do you spell Frankenstein?" Teddy asks, taking a break from that wretched song.

"What for?"

"The play at Sunday school."

"It's not Halloween, it's Christmas!"

"But, it's one of the magic guy's gifts." For a second I wonder if he means Penn and Teller. But, they bring no gifts to anyone.

"You mean the magi?" I ask. He nods. "It's frankincense."

"What's that?"

"I think it's some kind of oil."

"Like to cook chicken with?"

"No." It's always chicken with him. "To smell good." Wait, is that frankincense or myrrh? I know it's not gold. But, gold is something I know nothing about anymore.

"How do you spell it?"

"I don't know, ask your mother—she reads."

Ana starts to spell it out as I make my way to the kitchen to get away from all the eyes of me on me, but I can still feel their burn.

"What's wrong?" Ana asks, following me.

"Wrong? I'll tell you. We shouldn't live in this drafty old house. You should've let me build you a new one from the ground up! Or we should've disappeared on some island somewhere..."

"But, I love this house."

"I know." I look at her; my heart breaking knowing how much this all means to her. "You would've been better off if you never met me." I press my palms onto the tile of the countertop and dip my head.

"What are you saying?"

"You'd be happy with a nice man from a simple town with a simple life who wouldn't drive you crazy and tie you down— both figuratively and literally— and make you a baby factory..." I run a hand through my hair and turn away from her to watch the snow falling out the window. "And he wouldn't make you believe he's something when deep down he's really nothing."

We're both quiet for a moment.

"Are you talking about me ending up with Jose?"

"Why did his name come up immediately?" I turn back to her, throwing my hands up in the air. The fucking photographer! "Why is he the only other dating option on the planet?" I'm just glad she didn't say Taylor.

"Daddy!" I hear Phoebe call from the other room. "Daddy, come quick!"

I race to the living room to see her standing in the open front doorway as icy wind and snow blow through. She's wearing the flimsiest little dress for such a day!

"Phoebe!" I slam the door and pick her up. "Why were you outside, alone, wearing summer clothes?"

"I was making sure Boone had a sweater. I gave him mine and two of his butt feathers falled off when it pulled, 'cause he's fatter than me." She hands me the feathers. "Paste them, Daddy!" Where do I begin—or end?

"Phoebe, he's got central heating in that barn!"

She sneezes—a little one, but it's there.

"That's it young lady, you're going straight to bed." I stuff the turkey feathers into my front pocket. "You probably have pneumonia!"

"I don't feel like I got mu-monia. I feel okay to eat cookies and wait for Santy."

"Just like your mother, no self preservation."

I immediately carry her upstairs to her room and wrap her up in bed with three comforters and an electric blanket.

"Why weren't you wearing a coat?" I ask, brushing her hair off her face and tucking her in up to her neck. I don't want any chance of her being cold.

"Miss Tilly said I didn't have to." She coughs.

"Oh she did, did she?" Teach Tilly the Terrible.

I feel Phoebe's forehead—she's warm! I race downstairs on a mission.

"Ana, Phoebe has pneumonia! Call my mother to give her an examination! That teacher is going to be fired!" I dial the wildebeest on my cell.

"What are you talking about, Christian?" Ana says, still fussing with that tinsel. I think she's gotten even bigger in the last seventeen minutes.

"Ana, stop defending the psychologically impaired."

"But, you're my husband."

Not funny. I give her a look.

"Is this Tilly?" Some gravel voiced woman starts speaking. "What do you mean it's her mother? She lives with you? Well, there's a surprise. What is she forty-eight? Thirty-one? Now, who's zooming who here?"

"Christian!" Ana tries to pull the phone away from me, but she's got a kid on each hip and one in the middle.

"Tilly? Is it you?" I ask. She says _yes_ like she's surprised to be saying anything to a man that demands affirmative response. "You miserable silly woman who gets her rocks off by making my daughter ill. Well, maybe my kids aren't the best dressed at the school. How's that? Oh they are? Yeah, well not without a damn jacket! I'm going to have your job!"

I hang up. _We Wish You a Merry Christmas_ is on round seventy-nine.

"Stop playing that stupid song, Teddy! You play it over and over again!"

"You mean I don't gotta practice anymore?" He stands up with arms in the air. "Score!"

"And stop staring at me, you creepy children!" I yell to the strange boys, who still fail to react.

"Christian, why must you torture the children? Why don't you—" she dramatically turns away, her arms around and protecting all the boys who look like me. Something I wish my own mother would've done.

I watch them for a moment. She's right; I'm a beast who never deserved any of their love—especially hers.

"You're right, I should go." I grab my jacket and do just that.

The strange boys watch me leave. I know what's behind their eyes, because it's behind my own. We both know I could never really keep what's mine.

The storm worsens as I take the R8 into town—possibly the last time I take it anywhere at all. The Feds have now frozen all my accounts. I'm sure they'll be heading for the house and looking for me any minute now to rip me from my crying family in cuffs on Christmas. Ana will hate me—as well she should. No one wants a failure to father her thirteen children.

I need to find a way to protect Ana and the kids. I need to save the house, even if I have to go to hell and make a deal with the devil to do it.

I drive up to the salon at closing to do just that.

"Well, well, well, I always knew family life would fail you, but I never thought it would bring you to your knees before me again," Elena says, putting on blood red lipstick at one of the station mirrors. "How far the master of the universe has fallen." She laughs and it's wicked.

"My family didn't fail me, I failed my family," I say, sitting at one of the shampoo bowls. What an odd place to be having this conversation. I stand and walk to her, so I don't have to cower beneath the hair soap. "I just need your help. Please. For an old friend. Buy my house for Ana."

"You want my help?" She turns to face me. "You sent me away. How holier than thou you were, saying you were with your wife and wanted to be a father, looking down on me and the lifestyle. You told me you never wanted to see me again. And yet here you are..."

She slivers past me, commanding me to follow.

"Please, it's for my wife and children."

"Your _wife?_ " She says it with venom, then turns and smiles. I know that smile—it's vicious. "I'll give you the money for your _wife_ , under one circumstance."

She steps in close to me and I try not to flinch. Old habits die hard.

"Anything." And it's as close to begging as I've come in a long time.

She moves her face to mine; her red lips are far too close.

"I want to take you to my playroom. Now."

"No!" I back away. "Never!"

She pushes me forward, knocking me back into the shampoo wall. It's raining volume and shine care all around me.

"Would you rather lose everything you've worked so hard to build and rot away in prison than fuck me?"

"Yes!"

I fight to get out of her clutches, but her claws find my neck.

"Don't touch me! Only Ana now."

She pins me against the wall.

"I knew you were too pussy whipped to do it."

"Ironic, isn't it?" And I have to fight the urge to spit.

She lets go and steps back, sizing me up like a predator would.

"I told you your empire would crumble without me. But you know what, I'm still a good friend. I will help your family. I'll call the authorities right now and tell them where you are, so Ana and those kids can be rid of a pathetic joke of a man like you."

She picks up her cell and I do what any coward would—I run.

•••

I watch the snow falling outside the window, sitting at the bar of the Mile High Club. I don't know why I came here; I guess I just needed to sit and think and drink. With every sip I repulse myself more. _White Christmas_ is playing. As he dreams of home, so do I. But, as we dream, we both sit alone.

"I'm not a praying man," I say, with my brow resting on my steepled fingers. "But, if anyone up there can hear me, please help. Not for me, but for my kids—and for my wife. Don't let me break my promise to Ana—not on Christmas."

"Why are you a drinking so much, Mr. Grey? Go home, it's a Christmas Eve!" The bartender says as I finish my third whiskey. Why is he talking in such a hokey Italian accent all of a sudden? I've talked to him before—I think he's from Peoria."

"What's your name again?"

"Call me Dale."

"Is that your name?"

"Yes, that's a why I a said it."

"Well, you said it like it might be something else and you just want me to call you that instead. Like you're a Eugene and you want to be called a Eu."

"It's just a Dale."

"I have some advice for you, just a Dale. Don't ever get rich, because you'll just get poor again. And that's worse than being poor to begin with, because now you have a family to bring down with you."

"Should I call your wife?"

"No! Just give me another and put it on my tab." Hopefully he won't check to see my tab is no longer good. I wonder how long I can survive on presumptive tabs.

"Okay, Mr. Grey. I'll bring over some bread, too."

"Grey?" A hefty older broad in an ill fitting granny dress with stocking socks that I assume were white when she bought them in 1967 asks, sitting on a stool next to me. Oh lord, I hope it's not one of those tabloid reading fans. They always want to take selfies and ask about Ana's latest bump. Well, this one is a rager! I think she's going to have a twenty-two year old quarterback.

"Yes..." I answer, warily.

"As in Christian Grey?" She sounds like she was born with a cigarette in her mouth and thirty years of bad road pre-installed.

"Yep, the one and fucking only."

She stands up, looks down at me and out of nowhere throws a punch so hard I fall out of my seat.

A few people shriek. Dale runs around and tries to lift me up, but I back him off. No one touches my armpits but Ana.

"What the hell?" I ask, touching my blood dripping lip.

"That'll teach you for making my daughter cry!"

"Who's your daughter?" Is this an ex-sub's mother? Lord, if I made her cry it was probably north of a decade ago! No, none of their mothers could look like this. The apple may fall far from the tree on occasion, but it doesn't become a pineapple!

"My baby girl—Tilly."

Oh god. Tilly's mom. I should've seen the chin hair resemblance.

"It's bad enough she has to teach your stupid kids, now you make her miserable by calling her names!"

"No one calls my kids stupid!" I move to her and she pulls her mitt back to slug me again.

"Get out old woman! No one hurts my good friend, Mr. Grey!" Good friend? I think I've spoken to him three times before. And once was an argument about a poor choice of a Sauvignon Blanc.

"Don't worry, I'm leaving, Dale." I blot my lip with a cocktail napkin and look up to the sky. It's a stucco ceiling, but still. "I got my answer."

Stumbling out to the street, I get into my R8 and take off. I've been thinking; the only way to get money to Ana is from an insurance policy I have in an oversees account. But, the only way to get that is if I'm dead.

That's my answer.

I text instructions to Taylor and Welch and head for the nearest bridge.

The snow's really coming down now. Visibility is as shit as my life is —or soon to be was. I'm nearing GEH when suddenly I feel a jolt and the car halts, throwing me back and setting off my airbag. I get out to see the R8 has crashed into an old tree directly in front of my building.

"Damn it!" I kick the car.

Oh fuck it. I need to do what I need to do. I leave the car and fight my way through the storm to find the bridge. Once there, I climb to the edge and look down into the water. I close my eyes, take a deep breath and prepare to jump.

"Father Christmas!" I hear someone yell, then something large and white flies past me into the water. At first I thought it was some disgruntled employee trying to hit me with a monster snowball, but I now see it's a man, and he's flapping his hands around, splashing and gasping.

"Help! Help!" he screams. The voice is familiar, but I can't place it. I can't just let this guy die. Delaying my own demise to prevent this one, I take off my jacket and dive in. I'm not sure why the same jump that would've done me in a minute ago now poses no threat, but I don't have time for logical questions, I have to save a man who looks like a giant snowball.

"Holy shit!" I yell out as my body slams into the icy water. It's fucking freezing! I think my nuts are in a cryogenic state now. But, I forget my testicular trauma and swim to the bobbing man. Is he wearing a nightgown? How fucking weird is this? Maybe he just escaped from the hospital, or rather the asylum. Maybe he'll attack me and pull me under. Momentarily I fear for my life, but then I remember I was trying to get rid of it anyway, so when in Rome at the end of the empire...

"Stop flapping your hands!" I say as icy water splashes my face. I struggle to hold onto him as I start to swim. But, where is the shore?

Just then, a light blinds me. I throw a hand up to shield my eyes.

It's a fisherman, who looks a lot like my Sunday school teacher's husband, driving a boat and holding a flashlight. Only, Mr. Dollopaga wasn't virtuous like his wife. He liked old gin, young women and long Sunday mornings to sleep off his hangovers from both.

"You two okay?" Mr. Dollopaga's doppelgänger asks as he works to pulls us aboard.

"I think so. But, this man needs help!"

"Who really needs help in this situation? That's the question," the man in the nightgown asks all haughty know-it-all. I notice he's got a British accent...

"Me?"

"Did I say it was you, or did you come to that conclusion on your own?"

"You're the one who jumped in!"

"Because you were going to."

The fisherman points his light on him and now I know why his voice is familiar.

"Flynn!" I say.

"Who?" Flynn asks.

"You!"

"Who's that?" the fisherman asks.

"My shrink!"

"Your shrink? This guy in the nightgown is your shrink?"

"Yes! And he jumped into the water just to fuck with me!"

The fisherman looks confused, but I'm not sure if it's by us or life in general.

"I sense deep seeded anger..."

The fisherman brings us to shore, allowing us to dry out in a little shack at waterside. I'm not sure why he's fishing in a blizzard on Christmas Eve. What could he possibly catch but two bridge jumping nuts?

"Why'd you jump in?" I ask Flynn, squeezing out the legs of my pants. Maybe some crazy finally broke the last straw on the back of his camel.

"To save you," he says.

"To save me?"

He nods. "Am I speaking English?"

"No you're speaking British and crazy!"

"Defensive, are we? Now, where does that originate from?"

"From my ass swimming in ice for you!" I wave my shirt around to dry it and Phoebe's turkey feathers fly out. I grab them and put them back in my pocket. Flynn's watching. "What are you looking at my tail feathers for?"

"You were going to jump in anyway."

"How do you know that?"

"There aren't many people who stand on the edge of a bridge in a snowstorm on Christmas Eve."

"What does that mean?"

"It's a mere observation."

I just stare at him.

"Is this part of your solution based therapy?"

"Do you really think that killing yourself is the solution? Would your wife and children really be happier if you were dead?" He gives me one of his patented _I know fucking everything_ looks. "Think of how you felt when your mother didn't wake up."

Like a dagger, that pierces me deep.

"You're right. I don't want my family to ever go through what I did. It would've been better for everyone if I had never been born at all."

"What did you say?"

"I said, I wish I had never been born."

He looks up.

"What do you think about that, Harold?"

"Who the hell are you talking to?"

He looks back down to me.

"My boss. Not the big boss, more like a manager." He looks back up. So much up and down with his head, he could be a living bobblehead. I think maybe he is. "You think we should take away his life now, Harold?"

"Okay, now you're fucking scaring me."

"I've gotten approval to remove you from existence."

"Flynn, stop with this shit!" He's gone crazy! I've heard of mental cases turning on their psychiatrists before, but I've never heard of it the other way around.

He snaps his fingers and the snow stops falling. It has to be a coincidence. But where did Mr. Dollopaga go?

"Done," he says.

"Done, what?"

"Done, you. You've never been born."

"Okay, I'm calling Rhian!"

"Who's Rhian?"

"Your wife. You know, the mother of your kids, Flynn!"

"I don't have a wife. And I'm not Flynn."

"Oh yeah? Who are you then?"

"I'm your guardian angel."

He's worse off than I thought.

"Really? Well, I would get an angel like you." I touch my lip; the throbbing pain has gone away. "Hey, I've stopped bleeding, what do you know."

"It's because your mouth has never existed." With this shit.

"Enough, Flynn!" I give him the once over. "You're a psychiatrist, where's the nearest nut house?"

"Why?"

"I need to make a delivery."

"You're funny," he says, patting me on the shoulder. Strange—I don't feel the urge to pull away.

"Touch me again, Flynn."

"What?"

"Just do it! Touch my chest!"

He touches it lightly.

"No, really rub around."

He rubs hard in circles and the darkness never rises.

"I didn't feel a thing. In fact, it was pleasant."

"It's because—"

"Yeah, yeah. I've never been born. Maybe the ice just numbed it."

A ping from my email goes off.

"Hear that?" he asks.

"Yeah, I'm sure it's someone trying to hunt me down. Maybe it's the Russians."

"No, it's Julio Montego."

"He a hitman?"

"No, he's my roommate in the clouds and he just got his wings."

"Cloud-mate, huh? How do you know he got his wings?"

"I heard a ding."

"That ping?"

"No that was definitely a wing ding."

"A wing dinger, huh?"

"Now that's amusing." He throws his head back in laughter. I'm officially in crazy town.

"Where are your wings?"

"Haven't got them yet."

"Why not?"

"I haven't saved you."

I roll my eyes and check my cell. It wasn't a text or an email; it's an alert to tell me I have no service. What the fuck? Did they cut that off so quickly, too?

"Strange, isn't it?" he asks. Why does he sound like he's Vincent Price narrating some horror flick all of a sudden?

"That's the least of the strangeness tonight. Put some pants on and let's get you home. I need to figure my shit out."

"You're right, you do; but neither of us have homes on earth anymore."

"Don't rub it in, they may let me keep it a few more hours. You know holiday spirit and shit. Don't kick a man on Christmas, wait until the next day when your leg's rested so you can kick him harder."

He laughs again. At least I can keep the insane entertained.

I reach into my front pocket and find Phoebe's feathers are missing. "Did you take my feathers?"

"I can't steal from a man who doesn't exist."

•••

"Where the hell is my car?" I ask, standing in the empty space of where I know I left it.

"You don't have a car." He's wearing a pair of the fisherman's discarded jeans with his nightgown tucked in. He looks like a hippie that left the commune too soon.

"What are you talking about?" Shit, have they already towed me to sell it? "I had a car and it crashed right here."

"None if it ever happened, because you've never been born. You know, you've been given a wonderful gift, Christian. To see how the world would be without you."

"Okay, shut up with that for a minute while I figure this out, will you?"

I pull out my cell phone to dial Taylor and remember I have no service. Fuck.

I see Andrea walking toward the building. Thank goodness! And she's not in that dreadful fur anymore. In fact, she's rather dowdy today in a sack brown dress and sensible shoes. Maybe she's had a bad breakup. She always wears sensible shoes when she wants men to leave her alone.

"Hey! Andrea!" I wave my arms. She turns and eyes me, questioning. "I need you to do something for me!"

She looks around and approaches cautiously, holding her clutch tight and close to her chest. What, since I'm broke she thinks I'm going to mug her?

"What is it, sir?" she asks.

"Go up to my office and see if my R8 has been towed from this spot?"

"I don't think that's appropriate. My boss might get mad."

"Andrea, this is no time for joking. I pay you a lot to do stuff like this. Go up and find it!"

She backs away.

"You don't pay me. Hyde Enterprises Holdings does."

"Hyde? You mean like Jack Hyde?"

"That's the one."

"What the fuck are you doing for Hyde?"

"I'm his assistant." And the way she says it, I can tell she's not a happy one.

"What do you mean, he's in jail for trying to kill my wife and sister! Not to mention what a rapist he is!"

She backs away. This touched a nerve. What has he done to Andrea?

"He's our Mayor."

"Whose Mayor?"

"Seattle. Have you been living under a rock?" She points to a billboard with his sleazy smiling face on it. "He's running for reelection. And he'll be mad if I'm late."

"Late for what, it's Christmas Eve!"

She heads into the building.

"What the fuck?"

"You weren't there to fall in love with Ana so you could buy the company to stalk her so he could try and assault her and she could kick him in the balls and you could drag him out and he could try to murder you all and she could outsmart him and you could put him away for good." He's out of breath on that one. "And now he's in politics."

"He was in two-bit publishing before he got thrown out!"

"Scary how far a weed not clipped back can grow."

This is crazy! His company is a joke." I look up to the lettering on the building—HEH. "Look—the name's even laughing at itself."

"I'm sure Andrea isn't laughing working for him."

"What has he done to her?"

He doesn't say.

"Why won't you tell me anything?"

"I'll tell you that thousands of people starved in Darfur because they didn't get your shipments."

"What happened to them?"

"You weren't there to send them."

I run my fingers through my hair and shake my head.

"You'll see a lot of strange things tonight," Flynn says.

"Did you slip me something?" I get in his face. "Because, if you did—"

"I did what you asked me to."

"Stop with that shit!" I try to think, but my brain is rattled. Maybe that's it; maybe I got confused in the snowstorm. Maybe this is the wrong street. Maybe I left my car at the club. I have been drinking... But oddly, I feel like I haven't had a drop.

•••

"I told you it wouldn't be here," Angel Flynn says, appearing out of nowhere as I frantically search for my car outside the club.

"It can't just disappear!"

"It can if it never happened."

"I need a drink. I think I'm having a breakdown." I say. "Come on, I think maybe you need a drink, too."

I pull him inside.

I motion to the bartender when we sit down. "Hey Dale, I'm back."

"Oh yeah, from where—the drunk tank with your mommy?" Geez, that's harsh. I notice he's lost the phony Italian accent and now speaks like a gangster about to make a hit.

"Funny, Dale." I force a laugh. He doesn't. Lighten up, fucker. You're not the one who's lost his entire life today and is baby sitting his mentally unstable shrink.

"Oooh, they have Brazil nuts!" Flynn says, diving into the mixed nut bowl. Fitting.

"What'll you two have?" Dales asks, eyeing Flynn digging for his favorites. I'm not sure why he's digging. The Brazil's are the biggest ones; you can't miss them.

"Warm Christmas punch, just like my mother used to make in Devonshire when I was alive," Flynn says.

Dale doesn't look amused with the angel antics.

"He's a character," I say, trying to lighten the increasingly darkening situation. "Flynn, I don't think they have hot punch—"

"My name isn't Flynn, I tell you."

"Oh yeah? What is it?" Dale asks.

"Archibald."

I bite my tongue and roll my eyes.

"Just give me and Archie here two glasses of Sancerre and put it on my tab," I say to Dale.

"What's your tab?"

"Don't tease."

"Do I look like a man who teases?" Dale suddenly looks like a man who could take off your toenails with tweezers and sleep like a baby that night.

"Christian Grey, you know that."

"I know something else— you fucker, don't have a tab." Fuck, it must've been frozen.

"You're buying," I say to Flynn.

"We don't have money in heaven."

"Okay that does it—out you two go, into the street and onto the snow to freeze your asses off until you get cold enough to want to work to make some sort of a living."

"Geez Dale, a little harsh. It's Christmas—"

"That's another thing—where do you get off calling me Dale?"

"You told me to!"

"Oh, I'll tell you something—you two derelicts better get the hell out of here before I call the cops!"

The last thing I need is the cops.

"We should get out of here," Flynn says.

"I'm not going anywhere with you! Ever since you hitched on my ride everything has been fucked up. Stay the hell away from me!"

I take off. I need to see my folks. They'll set me straight.

•••

I knock on the door of my youth and wait for an answer. The place is so run down. It's like a living being hasn't been here for twenty plus years. But, a light is on, so someone is home. Maybe I just haven't paid attention to the chipped brick or the overgrown ivy when we've come to family dinners. But, I thought they put up Christmas lights this year.

The door creeks open. I can see my mother peeking around the corner. She's in a tattered bathrobe and has her hair piled on her head. She's let it go all gray. I'm surprised she's not ready for the party at my house. The one Ana and the kids were getting ready for. Maybe it's been called off since I've been gone.

"Mother!" I say, though I'm disappointed that she's not excited when she sees me. "Why aren't you dressed?"

She backs up and looks me up and down like she's afraid of me.

"Mother? Where do you get off calling me that?"

"Mom, what is it? Are you mad at me?"

"I don't need some kinky weirdo like you hanging out on my doorstep."

"Mom, how can you say that?" Does she really know me that well? "Let me in! I need to see you. There's been some really strange stuff going in tonight..." She doesn't budge. "Are Elliot, Kate and Ava here yet?"

"What did you just say?" She looks at me like I've just raised a ghost from the grave.

"Elliot told me they were taking you and Dad and Mia to our house for the Christmas party."

"Oh yeah, when did you talk to him?"

"Just this morning."

"That's a lie. He died when he was twelve years old on a fishing trip to Nova Scotia.

I remember that fishing trip. Elliot was fooling around, trying to balance on the bow as the hard currents hit. He had been fucking with me all afternoon, so I purposely got him in trouble. Dad made him get down. Not twenty minutes later a wave kicked up and slammed into the place he had been standing.

"No Mom, I saved him! He got grounded for a week and lost video game privileges, he didn't die. He thought he was going to, but he didn't."

"Who are you?"

"Christian, your son."

"I don't have any other children."

"What about Mia?"

"Who's Mia?" What's wrong with her? Had she lost her mind, too? Or is it me?

"Where's Dad?"

"Who, Carrick?"

"Yes."

"He killed himself after Elliot died. He could never forgive himself for what happened." She gives me the coldest look. "Leave—you're not wanted here."

She slams the door and suddenly Flynn appears out of nowhere.

"It's amazing how one man's life touches so many others."

"What happened to Mia?"

"You don't want to know."

I take him by the collar. "Tell me! What the fuck happened to my sister?"

"She grew up in foster care... She was sexually assaulted by her Foster Dad. She overdosed at nineteen."

"No!" This is all too much. "I have to see Ana! Where is she? Is she at home with the kids?"

"Your children have never been born."

I shudder; it's one thing for me to never have been born, but not Teddy and Phoebe!

"Stop fucking with me, where is Ana?" She'll bring me back to life. She's done it before.

"You're not going to like it. She's an old maid."

"She's only twenty-nine!"

"She never married. She never will."

"The photographer didn't get his claws in her?"

"No, she could only love a model looking, billionaire sexual god and he doesn't exist."

"Where is she now?"

I shake him.

"She's just about to leave the Barnes and Noble!"

"That's where she's shopping?"

"That's where she works."

"What are you fucking talking about? She's CEO of Grey publishing."

He shakes his head slowly.

"She left Hyde publishing after..."

He doesn't need to say anymore. I take off.

Seattle is a pit now—casinos, strip clubs, dive bars. There's a re-election poster for Hyde over the highway to tell you why.

I run across a busy street and nearly get hit by two honking cars that collide.

"Hey, fucker! What's the idea?"

"I have none!" I yell as I run past.

I hear a woman laughing and talking loud—like she's drunk— surrounded by a group of men.

Oh no—Ana! She's drunk again without me!

"Let go of her!" I say as I grab for her, ripping two men back. I look down and discover it's not Ana—it's Kate. "Kavanagh?"

"Who the hell are you?" she asks.

"Yeah man, she doesn't know you! Get off of her so I can get on," a guy says.

"Lay off the merchandise!" Another one yells.

Who are these beasts?

"Get the fuck away from her, she's my brother's wife!"

"You're married?" Another guy asks and they all back away like its a game of hot potato.

"I'm not married! Where do you get off?" she asks me.

"Why are you doing this, Kate? I thought you were a journalist?"

She looks away, bitter.

"I could never get a good interview for that school paper... That's why I turned to the streets."

"Yeah, girl!" One of the swine yells.

I pull her away from this madness.

"What are you doing?" she asks.

"Saving you from those monsters."

"They aren't monsters; they're my boyfriends. Stay the fuck away from me."

"Fine!"

I don't have time for her shit. Let Kavanagh whore it up. I need to find Ana. I hail down a cab.

"Take me to the Barnes and Noble! And step in it!" I say as I get inside and slam the door.

"Yes, sir."

That voice.

"Taylor?"

He turns his head to me.

"Yeah, why?"

"Taylor! Boy am I glad to see you!" I give him a hug around the neck and he pushes me off.

"Don't cross the boundaries."

"What are you talking about, there are no boundaries with us!"

He starts to drive.

"Why are you driving a cab?"

"It's a job."

"You already have a job with me."

"Oh yeah?"

"I'm going to get us out of this mess. You'll still be on the payroll and I'll always make sure you'll live with us. I'll also make sure Sophie stays in private school."

"What the hell did you say about my daughter?" he yells. I've never seen Taylor this hostile with me before.

"I'll make sure Sophie stays in school."

"Well, you're too late for that. She left public school six months ago and I haven't heard from her since. If I didn't have to drive this fucking cab at night, maybe I could've stopped her..."

Jesus, it's like every woman in my life went crazy or turned to the streets without me."

Oh no—Ana!

Suddenly, I see Ana leaving the Barnes and Noble. She doesn't look like a hooker or a drug addict. In fact, she's wearing a dress down to her ankles that looks like it came from one of those polygamist colonies. This is how she'd dress if she never met me? I smile. This pleases me greatly. Best news all night!

"Stop!" I say to Taylor. He halts and I open the door and run out to her.

"Hey! You didn't pay!" he yells after me.

"Ana!" I call out, running to her.

She looks around, seemingly unsure where the voice is coming from.

"Ana!" I call out again. She looks up as I reach her and take her into my arms. She feels like heaven. I kiss her hair and nuzzle her. "Oh Ana! I've missed you! I could hold you forever."

"Ahhh!" she screams and tries to get away.

"No Ana, it's me, your husband!"

She screams again, this time pushing me away and down onto the snow. She runs into a casino. I pick myself up, dust off the snow and run after her.

"Ana!"

"Help! This man is trying to attack me!" she screams and a crowd gathers around her to try and hold me off.

"That's my wife!"

"Stay away from her, creep!" a voice in the crowd shouts.

"Ana, What about our house? Our life? Our thirteen kids?"

She screams again and faints. I try to rush to her, but I'm pushed away.

"Everyone stand back! I've got him." It's Taylor. He fires a shot into the roof and plaster rains down.

"Are you fucking crazy?" I say.

"That'll teach you to pay your cab fare!"

He fires another shot.

There are screams; pandemonium. People running for cover and out onto the boulevard.

I try to escape. Taylor grabs me and I struggle.

"Get the fuck off of me!" I do my Claude perfected double shin kick and he momentarily lets go, allowing me to get away.

I run.

I need to go back to the bridge. Back to where I lost my life in the hopes of finding it again.

As I reach the edge of the water, I place my elbows on the railing and rest my forehead in my folded hands.

"I want to live again! I want to live again!" I say. "Dear God, please let me live again."

I feel snow falling on my shoulder. I look up. Headlights nearly blind me. It's my SUV. It stops and out comes Taylor, running up to me.

I back up and hold up my fists, ready to duke it out.

"Now, get away Taylor or I'll hit you again!"

"What are you talking about, Mr. Grey?"

"I'm not afraid to take you down!"

"Sir, are you okay?"

"Wait, you mean you know me, Taylor?"

"Know you? I've been looking all over town trying to find you. Mrs. Grey has been so worried, sir."

"Mrs. Grey?" I smile. "You mean Ana?"

"Yes, sir." He looks at me. "What happened to your lip?"

I touch it and look at my bloody finger tips.

"My mouth's bleeding..." I say, and the realization hits me. "My mouth's bleeding, Taylor! My mouth's bleeding!" I search my front pocket. "Phoebe's feathers, Phoebe's feathers..." I pull out the two butt feathers from Boone. "They're here! Well, what do you know about that?"

"I don't know anything about that, sir."

"Where's Ana?"

"I think back home, Mr. Grey."

And that's all I need to hear. I take off running to my girl.

"Merry Christmas, Taylor!"

"Merry Christmas, Mr. Grey!"

I run past GEH—it's there! And so is the car I crashed into the tree. I throw my hands up in victory as I jump onto the hood to do a little happy jig.

"My car is still crashed!" I yell as onlookers gather. "My car is still crashed."

And then I keep running.

"Merry Christmas Public Market!" I yell as I pass and people wave.

Some paparazzi have caught on and are now tailing me, shooting pictures for their rags as I run. But, I don't fucking care—I've been born!

"Merry Christmas movie house!" I yell at the Cineplex letting out.

"Fuck off reject!" Some kid yells back.

I run past the salon and pound on the window. Elena, who's still putting that whore-tastic lipstick on, turns around.

"Merry Christmas, Mrs. Robinson!"

"And a Merry Christmas to you, too—in jail. Go on home, they're waiting!" she yells after me and I flip her off as I continue to run.

I finally make it home.

"Daddy, Daddy!" Phoebe and Teddy run down the stairs as I burst through the front door.

"Kids!" I pick them up in my arms. "Why aren't you in bed, Phoebe?"

"I don't got a smidge of tempy-ture."

"Not a smidge, huh?"

"Uh uh. I was just hot 'cause you put too many blankets on me."

I blanket them both in kisses. I notice the other boys have gone. I smile.

There's a mean looking guy in a trench coat that could only be one thing—a federal agent.

"Mr. Grey, I'm sorry to do this on Christmas, but I—"

"I bet you have a warrant for my arrest! Isn't it wonderful? I'm going to jail." I shake his hand.

"Where's your mother, kids?"

"Here I am." I turn to see Ana standing in the doorway in a green crushed velvet cape with white furry edging. Her hair just peaking out and snow dusting her shoulders. She is a Christmas wish come true.

I run to her, the kids still hanging on me, and I kiss her. And I can't stop. I want to keep kissing her for the rest of my life and I intend to do just that.

"Christian, wait," she murmurs against my lips.

"I can't. I love you, Ana."

"I love you, too. But, they're coming!"

"Who?"

Suddenly the front door bursts open and everyone I've been close to in my whole life is coming inside. Granted, that's not that many people, but it's not quantity, it's quality that counts.

Ana clears off a table in front of us.

"Christian, it's a miracle!" she says as I keep covering her in kisses.

"Mrs. Grey organized the whole thing," Taylor says, walking up to the table. "When everyone heard you were in trouble they didn't really care, sir... Actually, they were sort of happy. But, once they knew Ana and the kids needed help, people all came together."

"I don't need a fur and diamonds to get a man, Mr. Grey." Andrea says, tossing them on the table. "I don't want him to think he doesn't have to buy me anything."

"Here's the latest prototype for the solar powered phone," Barney says. "This has to be worth a billion dollars!" He throws a phone on the table.

"We asked all the people who donated to Coping Together to donate to you," my mother says. "And we got $5,000,000."

"Mom, Dad, thank you," I say, picking Phoebe up and holding her high.

"Here's two pairs of Jimmy Choos I don't really need," Mia says, placing them in the table.

"Bill Gates is fronting $25,000,000 because of all the work you do to feed the hungry," Welch says, throwing the check down. "Plus, he likes you to be indebted to him." He throws a cigar on the pile, too. "It's a rare Cuban. Sell it on eBay."

Elliot, Kate, and Ava step up. "Here's my baseball card collection." He throws it on the table.

"That's your prized possession."

"You mean more to me than some old cards." He gives me a hug. "But, if you get enough without my help, give it back to me."

"Thanks Christian," Kate says, holding her daughter as my brother wraps his arms around her.

"For what?"

"For my life."

"Ditto, Kavanagh." And I pull Ana and my children closer.

"Hey listen to this!" Elliot says, reading his cell. "Jose Rodriguez has instructed his company to forward GEH $50,000,000."

"How does Jose have fifty million?" I ask.

"He started a social media photo sharing site and it blew up. He sold it and it's worth billions!"

"You're kidding me." I look to Ana. "Maybe you didn't choose the right billionaire."

"No, there's no other billionaire I'd want as my children's father." She rubs her belly and I place my hand over hers and give her a kiss.

Dale lifts a bottle of Sancerre in the air. "How about some wine?"

Everyone cheers as teacups are passed and bubbly is poured..

"I want to propose a toast," Elliot says, taking a cup and holding it high. "To my brother, Christian—still the richest son-of-a-bitch in town."

Teddy starts in at the piano and everyone breaks out into _We Wish You a Merry Christmas._ I love that song!

"The phone is dinging!" Phoebe says, pointing to the prototype on the table.

I pick it up and examine it.

"Are you going to answer it?" Ana asks.

I look at the caller ID—Archibald.

"No, I think he's leaving a message." I smile. "That a boy, Archibald," I look up and whisper to my friend upstairs.

"Sunday school teacher says every time a cellphone dings an angel get his wings," Phoebe says. Must be a modern translation.

"That's right." I hold my family close. "That's right."

And we sing and drink to Auld Lang Syne.

I wake with a start.

The credits are rolling on that old Christmas movie we were watching. Ana and the kids are all draped on top of me sleeping on the sofa. We all must've dozed watching the movie. Instead of waking them, I turn off the TV and straighten their blankets. I watch them sleep for I don't know how long. They're peaceful and beautiful—and mine.

It's a wonderful life.


	5. Chapter 5

_**I split this last part of the Christmas story into two because it's long and there was a lot I wanted to get in. Here's the first part. The other should be up tomorrow. And there will be a Darker update soon. Thank you again for the reviews! Glad you enjoyed my take on It's a Wonderful Life. xo**_

"It's Christmas Eve Eve!" Phoebe shouts as she runs down the stairs past me as I'm puttering down toward morning. I nearly tumble and break a leg as she comes flying by. She's quoting Eloise—the little girl who lives at the Plaza. We've watched that movie about seventeen times in the last three days and she's had me read the book every night as well. I find it a rather sad set of circumstances considering the child's parents are always missing and she has to make up ways to entertain herself while she's basically alone at a hotel, but Phoebe loves it. I guess you have to know the sad to see it. And sometimes I see sadness in places no one else does. But now, seeing things through my children's eyes makes me also see the happy I never knew was there. Every night, after the book is closed, Phoebe's posed the same question to me—"Is tomorrow the 23rd?" Finally, today is that day.

"Phoebe, don't run down the stairs like that, you're liable to break your neck!" Or mine.

"But, Daddy," she stops on the third stair from the bottom, throws up her arms and twirls. My heart nearly stops when she stumbles, but before my arms can catch her, she seamlessly catches herself on the banister like nothing happened. This child will be the death of me, but a place buried deep inside is smiling because my child knows no fear—either to rescue herself or to go on. "This is the day when all of the everything fun starts!"

"Well, if you take a slower pace all of the everything fun will last longer." Although even as I say it, I can't believe she's already four. Even the master of the universe can't slow down time.

She hops the last three steps down and I pick her up, swing her around and tickle her after I reach the bottom. She's in a fit of giggles. She sounds so much like Ana. And it takes me back, noticing how much she looks like me, too.

"I can hardly wait for Santy!"

"Do you think he's going to bring you good stuff?"

She nods with the faith of a child who's known no want. And I'll move heaven and earth to make sure my family never will.

"Daddy?" she asks as we make our way past the tree in the living room. She stares at the twinkling lights as we cross the arches that lead us to the kitchen. "I like that our tree is bended over."

"Oh yeah?" I stop for a second and turn to look at it with her.

"Yeah, we didn't give up on it just cause it was almost broken."

"You're, right." She does sound like her mother, eternal optimist that she is. I smile, give her head a kiss and offer up a silent thanks to whoever is up there that made sure Ana didn't give up on me.

"What'd you get when you was as many fingers as me?" she asks, as I move us toward breakfast and I'm stopped in my tracks, ill prepared for such big a question this early.

"You mean when I was your age?" I swallow and I hope she can't hear the catch in my breath.

She nods.

Four.

That was the last Christmas with my mother and the first that I knew what Christmas was at all. She didn't tell me it was coming; I saw the ads on the TV that babysat me when she was out. Everything looked so magical. There were only happy families in those ads and they were happy because it was Christmas. There was one where everyone sat around a table with a turkey and more food than I could ever imagine. That's what I wanted for Christmas—to smile and eat with my mother. And I was still child enough to believe that Santa had the power to make this happen, even as I doctored my own burns.

I made the crack whore a gift. I worked on it every night while I waited for her to come home and I hid it in an old coffee can underneath the sink so the mean man wouldn't take it and rip it up and give me a beating for it. It was a picture I drew of her and me and the Santa Claus from the Coca Cola commercial taking us away in his sleigh to live in a real house with a bed that was more than an old sleeping bag shoved in the back of a closet. And I didn't have to hide there, because the mean man couldn't find us. I remember drawing her long hair. I didn't have a brown marker, so I made it my favorite color—blue.

I didn't eat the stale popcorn she left me for dinner Christmas Eve night. I wanted to be hungry and fill my belly with all the good food. I fought my eyes to stay open, waiting up for her and Santa, but as the sun rose, I realized that neither one was coming. I left her the present on the old couch where she slept off her long nights for sometimes days. When I woke up, she was asleep and the picture was sitting on the table beneath a spilled bottle of alcohol and all you could see on the page were the stripes of blue that used to be her hair.

"Daddy, what's wrong?" Phoebe pets my hair so sweetly. "Your eyes are wet."

"No," I take her hand from my head and kiss her fingers. Hands just like these drew that picture. "I just don't remember that Christmas," I clear my throat. "I was too small."

"Daddy," she says. "Will you hold Christmas like you hold my sweaters?"

"Your sweaters? What do you mean?"

"In case one day I forgetted, you could 'member it for me. Like you do when it's hot and I don't want a sweater, but you take it for laters anyways so I won't catch mu-monia. 'Cause I don't want to ever forgetted Christmas!"

I hold her tight.

"You have my word. I will never forget this."

And though I can smell that breakfast is ready and we'll both have to rush to get dressed for our day, I stand there so we can watch the tree for a few moments more. Because, there are only so many trees and so many years you can watch Christmas holding your little girl in your arms.

#######

"Why do you want this job?" I ask, tapping my pen against the wood of my desk in a measure that warns. An old man sits in front of me at my office at GEH. He's nervous; I can tell by the way he keeps repositioning himself in the seat and fiddling with his beard. It's as if he wants to make sure the whiskers are still attached and covering him up. What's this fucker hiding anyway?

"I've done this kind of work before..." he says, straightening his sweater over his gut. He pats it, almost like he's proud of the gluttonous mound that lies beneath, which makes me wonder if it got that way from a love affair with baked goods or the bottle.

"Is that your reason?" I sit back and recross my legs, not allowing my eyes to leave him for a single second. Old fat fuckers are slippery; they know you're underestimating their ability to move on the quick. His cheeks are reddening and sweat is forming on his brow. Why? Embarrassment? Shame? What deviant thoughts are going through this dirty old man's mind that he fears I'm close to uncovering?

"Well, you're paying a lot more than the Northgate mall," he finally blurts out.

Greedy bastard. He's not in it for the right reasons at all. He's just like the rest of them.

Them.

I've been interviewing _them_ all day—the Santas. Tall, short, naturally fat, small with their own padding add-ons—some skinny idiot even modeled all of his custom made numbers against my rather fervent protestations. One guy claimed he went to some Ho Ho Ho academy, but he couldn't even name all the reindeer. I schooled him. If you don't know Blitzen, don't fucking talk to me. I don't know why I'm putting myself through this tinsel time torture, except I need a Santa to work Christmas Eve for that damn Kreative Kidz party.

"So you're in it for the money, are you?" I ask.

"No, I really like the children."

"Really?" I eye him. "Why that word— _really_?"

"Because I really do." There it is again! "Is there something wrong with really?"

"It's a rather strong word, don't you think? Wasn't just liking them enough? Did you have to emphasize your feelings so aggressively?"

He looks at me like he's listening to the wind swirling around between his ears and trying to figure out where the sound is coming from.

"Listen, I just like to make them happy. See the big smiles on their little faces as they sit on my lap—"

"I bet you do, you sick bastard!" I stand.

"Excuse me?"

"Good idea, excuse yourself the fuck out of my sight," I pull him out of his seat and forcefully escort him out of my office. Mind you, he's so fat it's not easy. "And don't think I'm validating your parking, either!"

"You're insane!" he says and takes off fast for the elevators.

Andrea stares at me.

"What are you looking at? It's nothing you haven't heard before."

She turns back to her computer screen and resumes her work.

I take it that one didn't work out either, sir?" Taylor—who's been waiting outside during this endless parade of interviews— asks as he follows me into my office and I slam the door.

"He's a predator."

"Welch did a thorough background check, sir."

I reach my desk and turn to face him.

"Just because you haven't committed the crime, doesn't mean you're innocent of it, Taylor."

Andrea buzzes me.

"What?"

"The gentleman from NASA wants to know if you want to see the Moon or Mars from your spaceship, Mr. Grey."

"What the hell?—oh,Teddy's gift." I've had this guy design the entire thing from the ground up to up, up, and away. "Tell him to install footage of both and add an off-planet like Jupiter, no Venus, and give an option to switch between planets. And not all rocks and dirt scenery. Put in some aliens. But, not scary ones—more cartoonish."

"Cartoonish, sir?"

"Like ET, but less wrinkled and slug like." I don't want Teddy getting nightmares from blood thirsty ones popping out at him from rocks.

I hang up.

"I don't mean to speak out of line, sir..." Taylor says, speaking the fuck out of line. "But, you've gone through nine of the most highly respected Santas in the greater Seattle area."

"Who the hell highly respects Santa?" I take a sip of my coffee; it's cold.

Andrea buzzes again.

"What?"

"And the dollhouse; do you want carpet or hardwood?"

"Don't they have my swatches? I sent them over!"

"They didn't say—"

"Hardwood throughout, petal pink carpeting in the family room and bedrooms and ceramic tiling in the bathrooms and kitchen." Honestly, haven't they consulted the plans my architect drew up? I could've bought a real house with what this one cost.

"Yes, Mr. Grey—"

"And make sure they put in a jacuzzi big enough to fit a hamster and six Barbie dolls on the pool deck!" I had to order special swim trunks for Chester and believe me it's not easy to fit his long, fat waist and short, skinny legs. Although it's easier than getting track suits for Boone—which I also had made. My tailor thought I was drunk when I called him. "And Andrea, I know it's Christmas and all, but get me some coffee that hasn't lived it's life at the North Pole."

I hang up.

"The one with glasses, he seemed nice, Mr. Grey," Taylor says. Is he still talking about the damn Santas?

"Who—Carl? He was practically blind; he might drop the kids."

"What about the young one?"

"If you think I'm having some twenty-five-year-old stud cake Santa prancing around Ana, you've got your screws loose."

"But, sir, it's nearly five and we need him tomorrow. We're running out of time."

Andrea buzzes me again. She buzzes me so much I wonder if she was a bee in another life.

"With milk, Andrea."

"What?"

"The coffee. Isn't that what you're buzzing about?"

"No sir, you have a visitor—"

"Not another one!" I need hot caffeine before I see one more counterfeit Claus.

"No, Mrs. Grey is here."

"Mrs. Grey? You mean my wife?"

"Yes, sir."

What's Ana doing here? Odd.

"Well, don't make her wait out there, send her in!" I don't want those horny shits from accounting ogling her in the waiting area. Or any rogue Santas.

The door opens and she's jaw-drop-on-the-rug-and-out-of-this-universe stunning. She's wearing charcoal suit pants with an emerald green satin blouse tucked in and a large belt. Although the gold buckle covers most of her stomach, you can see her bump pressing through the fabric underneath; it's adorable. For a moment I'm reminded of the first time she walked through that door. It was like Christmas that day, too.

"Don't trip!" I say, taking her hand as I meet her in the doorway.

"You know, you say that every time I come here."

"Well, you haven't tripped since."

"You're right; I only fell hard once and I married him." She winks.

"Ana, is everything okay?" I ask, wrapping my arms around her and giving her a kiss. Chaste, so Taylor doesn't get his rocks off.

"Yeah, more than okay. So much _more_..." The way she says our word is curious. And she's blushing. She looks down and I can see she's biting her lip, too. It's almost as if she has a delicious secret she's keeping from me. Oooh—maybe she's not wearing panties. It is the second trimester now and we know how insatiable she gets. I barely survived the last time. But, my near death experience was mighty fine.

"Why aren't you at work?" I stroke her arm. I love the feel of this fabric on her skin. She should always be in silks and satins.

"I thought you wanted me barefoot, pregnant and spending your money—"

I put a finger to her lips.

" _Our_ money." I pull it away and replace it with my mouth. "And I do. But, you insist on taking the publishing world by storm."

"By storm?—that's an exaggeration."

"I've seen the holiday numbers. Impressive, Mrs. Grey."

"Thank you." She sees Taylor and smiles. "Hi, Taylor! I like your tie clip."

"Thank you, Mrs. Grey." Is he blushing?

Tie clip? It looks like he hooked a pen cap to it and forgot. Why would she notice and compliment that? And why are her eyes on his chest region to even see it to begin with? Enough conversation for the two of them. I pull her aside and over to my desk where I sit on the edge, put my arms around her waist and pull her close.

"As much as I love surprises, you're up to something." I stroke her belly.

"I had a last minute appointment in the area..." She looks up, batting her lashes.

"Really? What was the appointment?" I don't like her rushing around the city to get to things that weren't planned for. I hope she wasn't driving her new candy apple red R8. She's a speed demon in that thing as it is.

"It was to do with your Christmas present."

"I'm intrigued. Any hints?"

She shakes her head. "All I'll say is I won't give you _just_ _one_ this time."

"Not just one what—present or hint?"

She just smiles. I have to say this mysterious act is turning me on. If Taylor wasn't watching, I would definitely take her over my desk.

"Well, you're getting no hints, either." I've just been to Cartier and it's magnificent. But, that's not the only surprise I have up my sleeve.

"I also wanted to tell you Jose called—"

"What do you mean, on the phone?"

"Yes."

"Why is he calling my wife unannounced?"

"Don't worry, the ring announced him." She smiles and of course, she rolls her eyes. "He has a great idea for tomorrow."

"Let me guess—he wants redo our Christmas card photos so I'm not in them?"

"Stop it. He wants to help us. He knows we're looking for a Santa—"

"How does he know that?"

"Kate told him." Of course, Kavanagh. Always offering up to the public. "He thought it might be fun if he played Santa and Kate and I could be his helpers to pass out little gifts to the kids, like we did at the JCPenney one year in college—"

"What do you mean like you did at the JCPenney?"

"We just did it for extra money."

"You mean Jose has played Santa with you before?" I'm wounded that she's seen another man in fur trimmed red velvet. Or that he's seen her in elf attire. How did Welch never find this out?

"Not like we do," she whispers, I'm sure so Taylor can't hear she likes a hard fast ride on Santa's sleigh.

"Well, I should hope not!"

"He said he'd take pictures—."

"He took pictures at the JCPenney?!" This is getting worse and worse. My heart is pounding; my blood pulsing. I think I'm about to have a stroke. Ana's been photographed frolicking about with a department store Santa Jose?!

"No, he wants to take pictures tomorrow."

"Let me get this straight... Jose wants to dress up as Santa—again, have you girls dress up as his elf-ettes—again and take photos of all of this happening so he can relive three amigos college department store shenanigans— again, in my North Pole?"

"Well, I wouldn't put it like that..."

"In what universe did you think I'd agree to this?"

"Elliot is okay with it."

"Do you think that means anything to me? Elliot is okay with canned meat on Ritz crackers at formal functions." Exactly why he married his wife—dormitory tastes. "No, there's no way my wife is going to be some sleigh groupie—"

"Sleigh groupie? Christian, he's trying to be nice."

"Yes, well, we'll send him a thank you note and some dried fruit in a holiday basket." Maybe raisins with a card that reads—your testicles if you bring your package anywhere near my wife. I have to think fast on this deal! "Besides, Taylor and I already have a Santa Claus."

"You do?" she asks.

"We do, sir?" Taylor echoes.

"We do."

And it's the only person I can trust...

#######

"Ho, ho, ho," I practice, walking up Candy Cane Lane toward the North Pole in my Santa suit with Taylor—my ever loyal elf. I didn't use the suit I play with Ana in; I figured it would be distasteful, plus I couldn't get all the vanilla ice cream and lube stains out in time. So, I got this last minute number from Gunther Imperial that's got so much fur and shoulder padding, I feel like I'm in the _Dynasty_ holiday episode. Even the beard and wig under the hat are teased and sprayed within an inch of their life. I don't know why I keep going back to him; everything he gives me is fucked up somehow.

"Do my _ho's_ sound good to you, Taylor?" I'm beginning to doubt my thespianic abilities in a Yuletide arena.

"I think they're authoritative, sir. Very commanding."

"I don't want to be an authoritative Santa." The last thing I need is to be a Dominant St. Nick. I guess, I'm kind of like a bull; when I see red, dominant qualities come out. "I want to be likable—jolly, even."

"Maybe if you raise your voice a little, Mr. Grey."

"What do you mean—like a woman?"

"No sir, happy."

"Like gay?"

"No, like _ho ho ho,"_ he demonstrates and it's kind of terrifying. I wouldn't say that was happy. It was more like his ass hairs just got waxed off and he didn't want anyone to know it was currently happening. Taylor has another side of him I don't want to know about.

"Ho, ho, ho," I try again. "No, now I sound like I just got kicked in the nuts."

"Try it with an added laugh, sir."

"What do you mean?"

"Santa always laughs with his ho's, sir."

"A regular comedian with the ladies, huh?"

"Excuse me?"

"Never mind." Taylor has less of a sense of humor than me. I try my _ho's_ with a laugh. "Now I just sound simple minded." Or completely maniacal. "I'll figure out my ho's myself."

"Sir, do my tights fit my legs correctly?" Taylor asks as we walk through the Lollipop Woods, nearing my North Pole digs. I see gingerbread people around every corner and it's terrifying. "They pull like they were made for a much smaller man." Here he goes again—always bragging about his size.

"You look fine." Although I'm not thrilled his thighs are showing so much in that short elf skirt he's wearing. I don't like the idea of Ana seeing above his knees, even if they are an opaque green.

Suddenly there's a commotion in the distance. It sounds like an angry goose squawking to music played by a bunch of wind instruments.

"What the hell is that?" I ask, as we reach my workshop digs.

"I believe the eleventh day of Christmas has arrived for Mrs. Grey, sir." Oh lord, those God awful maids-a-milking are back. All they do is moon over me as they pull on their udders.

"Is my beard on straight?" I ask, trying to straighten the thing as we make our way inside, but I keep getting it caught up in my mouth. Taylor moves in to help just as I spit a hair and accidentally hit his face. "Sorry, Taylor."

"No worries, Mr. Grey. I'm used to it." As he fluffs me, I'm suddenly uncomfortable with the reality that Taylor could legitimately be known as my fluffer.

I look out the candy cane striped curtains of my little window to see the line of children forming.

"Jesus Taylor. There are so many of them!" So many germ-ridden terrifying kids and their larger more terrifying germ-ridden mothers. "Why are all these mothers barely dressed?" One is wearing a sweater so tight and short she could get kicked off the beach.

"The word got out you were Santa, sir." Oh god. That's all I need—a bunch of slutty mothers trying to sit on my lap and trying to find my package. I'd rather eat paste made with cyanid.

"I have to say, sir, you are a wonderful looking Santa Claus. You're just like the one my mother used to take me to."

"You used to go see Santa?"

"When I was a child, sir."

"Well, I didn't mean last week." I roll my eyes and adjust my add-on belly. That one guy was right to get custom fitted jobs, otherwise your gut spills out all over the wrong places and not enough in the right. "I just never pictured you..."

"With Santa, sir?"

"No, as a child." I guess I always pictured Taylor as he is, hatched from a pod in the middle of war or something.

"Taylor, put on your beard!" I point to a long furry brown thing on the gumdrop end table.

"I'm an elf, sir." He sounds almost outraged.

"So?"

"Elves don't have beards."

"Since when did you become an expert on elves?"

"I researched my role, sir."

"I always see little guys with beards around in yards and stuff."

"Those are gnomes, sir."

"Well, pretend like you're stuck in my lawn and put on your facial hair. Otherwise the kids will recognize you and then they'll know it's me."

"How, sir?"

"Because unless we're talking the bedroom, the bathroom or the boardroom, you don't do anything without me."

"Christian, you know those lords-a-leaping nearly gave me a heart attack when I crossed the yard," Kavanagh says as she and Ana enter.

"I'll tell them to improve their job next time."

"Funny," she snarks.

"It's very sweet of you to send me all those things, Christian," Ana comes up behind me, turns me around and surprises me with a peck. I look down and I'm surprised again. Not just surprised—I've nearly reached heart failure. All I see are two mounds of luscious, heaving breasts pushing up through some fuzzy white and green velvet nonsense. I'm surprised her nipples are covered in that thing! I thought she had melons at Thanksgiving, now I gotta put a water in front of the word and celebrate the Fourth of July.

"Ana, what on earth are you wearing?" I step back to see that she and Kavanagh are in marching little elf get-ups. And by little, I mean it looks like it was made for Phoebe's Barbie doll and she couldn't wear it because it's too tight and short. I don't care to look at Kavanagh's merchandise, she's always spilling the goods all over, but Ana's assets are far too visible.

"These are our Santa's helper outfits," she says, all innocent. Yeah, innocent like a Catholic school girl on her bathroom smoke break.

"What are you supposed to be helping Santa with?" I have a flash of Jose as Santa seeing all this. "Is this what you wore at the JCPenney?"

"No. And you shouldn't be upset. You're the only one I'll be helping."

"Yeah, Christian," Kate adds. "Elliot should be the jealous one, since you'll get to see me like this."

"Trust me, Kate, I'm not looking." I turn to Taylor. "And you're not looking at anything, either."

"No, sir." He looks away, but I know he's still looking.

At least the photographer's not here to see it.

Of course, just then, the photographer's here to see it.

"Jose, what are you doing here?" I ask as he walks in with his equiptment.

"Taking pictures for the kids." He sets up his pervert gear.

I give Ana a look. I'm not sure she can see my full expression behind my beard, but she can see my the fire shooting out if my eyes.

"He offered free photographs for everyone, even without playing Santa," Ana says. "Isn't that nice?" Nice? This is better for him this way. No kids in his lap to distract and he'll get a full frontal view with his lens.

"These people pay $40,000 a kid to finger paint and make macaroni jewelry at that school, they can afford to pay for a few commemorative snapshots."

"That's so cool of you to worry about my finances, but it's all good, man. I like to give back at the holidays."

I'm about to give him the back of my hand to his face when I hear the rumblings of an animalistic herd outside. And this time it ain't the twelve days of Christmas.

"We want Santa! We want Santa!" the kids are yelling and start pounding on the walls.

"Holy shit, it's like a mob scene out there!" I say, peeping out my window again. I feel like I'm one of those shop owners after a sports team wins and the looting's about to begin. "Hey, some fat kid just stuck his mouth in my cocoa river!"

"Christian, don't make fun," Ana says.

"I'm not making fun; it's a direct observation!" Damn, they're so amped. I think they've all visited the Gingerbread houses and each scarfed down a wall.

"Ho, ho, ho, there's my hot wife," Elliot says, coming in and mauling Kavanagh. He's got the triple ho part right. I'm actually rather jealous of his ho-ho-ho-ing abilities. "Geez, I really had to fight my way in. Those kids are pumped!" I notice he's wearing a sweater with blinking lights and a matching felt tree for a hat.

"Why are you dressed like some asshole trying to sell me something at the mall?

"Because it's Christmas."

"We want Santa! We want Santa!" The kids are at it again.

"What's going on out there?" I ask.

"Christian's scared of the kids," Kavanagh says, snickering.

"They're all just so excited to see you," Ana says.

"Seriously, bro, what harm could a bunch of little kids do?"

Famous last words...

 **To be continued...**


	6. Chapter 6

**Thank you you for your patience and your reviews and for reading! I'm working on a Darker update, and I will get to Teddy's birth story again soon. And, there will be many more holiday stories. By my calculations, Ana is due is June... Father's Day? Enjoy! xox**

"They're only little children," they said. "They're just excited," they said. "They love Santa Claus..."

They said.

"Elf, get this boy off! He's pooping on my leg!" I say to Taylor as a three-year-old lets loose down his pants and onto mine. And it's not solid matter.

"Sorry, he's training," the mom of the shitter says as Taylor lifts him off me and hands him to her.

"Training for what—to be a long distance _runner_?"

"Santa!" Ana says, swatting the ball at the tip of my hat.

"I messed on Santy's pants!" the kid yells and throws up his arms as if claiming victory, and the other children in line laugh and cheer. Since when is shitting on Santa something kids celebrate? It's a fucking free-for-all out there. I've been bounced on; kneed in the gut, groin and gallbladder; had hot chocolate spilled on my lap that I think gave me third-degree scrotum burns; and one girl tossed her cookies on my beard. She didn't throw up, she literally threw chunks of gingerbread man as hard as she could at my face. I still have green frosting from what used to be his gingham vest in my whiskers! Talk about the Taylor–fluffer situation—after all the rubbing and wiping down he's had to do, I think we may be legally married now in some parts of the country.

Of course Jose has documented all of this. The fucker. I take it back—Ana's T&A Elf-ette number isn't the only reason he wanted to take pictures today. He wanted to document my torture and humiliation so he and his father could laugh about it while they're sticking my doll on voodoo nights.

"I want a laser beam so I can shoot down the houses on my whole street from my room window," a kid holding some plastic machine gun with a red laser aimed directly into my right eye, tells me as he sits on my lap.

"Why do you want to shoot down your neighbor's houses?" I ask, suddenly feeling like Flynn talking to a deranged mental case. Only Flynn has the power to drug and hospitalize crazies, I have to give them peppermint sticks and gifts.

"'Cause it's cool when they explode and everything is on fire!" He starts mimicking the shots. Yeah, this kid's not a danger to society. I grab the kid's weapon, putting mass annihilation on hold, very temporarily. I'm not sure he won't leave here and hold up the local Quik-E Mart.

"How about I send you some stink bombs to freshen up your room and call it a day?"

"Hey—"

Jose snaps a photo and I motion for Taylor to get this kid the fuck off my lap, down the exit slide and out of my life.

"Santa, be nice," Ana says, straightening her little gift boxes on her table. She wiggles her ass around as she does this.

"Those are some nice gift boxes," I say to Ana in a whisper laced with lascivious intent.

"Not in front of all these kids," she scolds.

"But, I like this view." When I'm confident no one is looking, I brush the back of her thigh. She promptly swats my hand away.

I notice the photographer is adjusting his lens, probably imagining it's his own package directed at Ana's, although I'm sure there's not much to give. It's more like a matchstick and two lumps of coal in a couple of old leather sacks. But, his coal better not be burning for Ana right now.

"How many kids are still out there?" I whisper to Taylor when he returns to his elf post.

"I'd say a good four dozen, sir."

"Did the whole city come? I thought this was just for the school?"

"The school has a lot of kids, sir."

And a lot of mothers...

Two kid-on-their-hip nymphos in coordinated holiday themed sweaters and pants so tight you can almost hear the seams crying out for mercy, wave and wink at me from the line. What do they think they're accomplishing with that? My hot-as-hell pregnant wife is standing behind me. It really pisses me off how these women have no respect for her. Do they really think I'd two-time a goddess like Ana with anyone, let alone a couple of over-bleached, under-plucked broads whose sports bras can barely hold their jugs above their knees?

"Did they just flirt with you?" Ana asks, and she sounds mad. I think her pregnancy hormones are kicking in. She gets so possessive when she's bearing my young. It's so fucking hot.

"I think it was more like a call of the wild and the wild's definitely not picking up." The wild is terrified and is going to change his name, number and address just to avoid any more calling.

And just when I think horny preschool mothers are the worst of the wilderness, another beast emerges...

"It's my turn, you shits!" a boy as wide as he is tall says, pushing himself through the crowd and breaking through the rope barriers. It's like the Pillsbury doughboy if he was the devil.

"Hey, watch your language, kid!" I say, standing in front of Ana to protect her from this monster. Kavanagh can fend for herself. And I'm hopeful he'll get Jose.

"I'm not here for your na-na-na chit-chat," he says, pushing up the sleeves of his sweatshirt that reads: _Rudolph Tastes Like Chicken_. "I'm just gonna tell you what I want," he snorts snot back and pulls a list out from the front of his sweatpants. Why is he carrying around papers in his underwear? "My grandma's taking me to McDonalds, so listen fast 'cause I'm not gonna miss out on Christmas or McNuggets.." How old is this child? He sounds like a fifteen-year-old delinquent, but looks like a seven-year-old marshmallow. A big fucking marshmallow... Suddenly I recognize him...

"Hey, you're the kid who stuck his head in my cocoa river!"

"I did something else in it, too," he laughs and so do the other kids in line.

"What's your name?" This kid is going to be in serious trouble.

"My grandma says I can't talk to old men on a first name basis."

"Where is this grandmother of yours?"

"Why? You got two chicks on the side already." He points to Ana and Kate.

"Why you little sh—"

Ana grabs my arm and holds me back. "Santa! No!"

He walks over and hands me a list written on notebook paper that's obviously been used before and everything's been erased, but not well. Oh, it's his homework. I can make out faded chicken scratch numbers and an F at the top.

"I want video games and a new flat screen with HD 3D. And a neck pillow so I don't have to work my neck muscles while I'm watching the TV..."

"How about you get nothing and build character out of it?" I look to Taylor. "Escort this kid out."

"Hey—you can't do that!"

"I can do anything I want, I'm Santa Claus."

He leans over, takes hold of my calf and bites!

"Mother fu—"

"Santa!" Ana says, preventing my French before I have to pardon it, as she runs to me. "Are you okay?"

"I think I need a rabies shot," I say, buckled over in pain.

Taylor pulls him away using military skill and with a hefty push, gets the fat little fucker down the shoot.

"I'm telllllling Graaaaaandma!" the kid screams and it echoes the entire slide-ride down.

Of course Jose documents this, too. The kid's not even here anymore and he's still snapping away.

"Let's get you back in your chair, Christian," Ana helps me to my throne. Throne?—yes, right before the guillotine slammed down.

"Santa!" a woman calls out, but that's not a woman. I would know that voice anywhere. It's a voice straight from jingle bell hell...

"Tilly," I say, and turn to see her waving, all flirty and gargoyle-girl like. It's like she can smell when I'm wounded and can't flee easily.

She waffles up to me—not waddles, more like the breakfast food if it tried to walk. She's wearing this red sweater with white puffy balls stuck to it. I'm not sure if it's supposed to be snow or a bag of cotton balls adhered to her via a major case of static cling. Whatever the case, she's strategically placed two where her nipples should be. I momentarily wonder if they're going to fire at me. It's rather terrifying.

"What are you doing?" I ask as she heads toward me. I think she's going to stop but she just keeps coming. Suddenly everything goes fuzzy and red and I've got two balls shoved up my nose. It's because she's plopped down on my leg and all her fat is smushing into my face, so all there is is sweater covered flesh. I fight to catch my breath as her body crushes me against the wood of my chair.

"I wanted a picture with Santa Claus!" she says, wrapping her arms around my neck. "It's been a long, looooooong time since I sat in his lap."

"There's a reason for that."

I can hear Ana giggling. Why isn't she jealous of this one? Of course, no one could be jealous of a slug wearing a brassiere. Well maybe a slug-man. Speaking of which...

"Take the picture!" I yell to Jose, though it's muffled against the pit of her arm. I think she's wearing that health food store deodorant. It smells like tea tree oil and patchouli by way of organic ass.

"I gotta change memory cards. It may take a while."

That fucker. He just wants to see me die.

#######

"All in all that was a rewarding day," Ana says, straightening up the area nearly destroyed by the hurricane that just swept through.

"Rewarding for whom?" I'm still gasping to take breaths, in a state of PTSD—Post Tilly Stress Disorder. I'm going to have nightmares about red sweaters and the Whole Food personal care aisle for weeks.

"I had a blast," Jose says, camera in hand and his equipment packed. Of course he did; he got to document my suffering.

"Oh good, you're leaving," I say. Ana elbows me as she passes. "I mean, see you next year." Well into next year, I hope. Like maybe the next after that—or never.

"Don't worry, you'll see me and Dad tomorrow for Christmas dinner."

Of course.

He leaves. Fucking great. I spend every holiday with people who want me dead.

"Ana—why is he coming to our house?"

"They have nobody else."

"There's a reason for that."

"Trust me—you'll want to show him your Christmas presents."

"They better not have anything to do with you in lingerie!"

"No, but they're a direct result of it." She winks and grins.

"What the hell does that mean?!"

"Look who I found outside," Elliot says, bringing Ava, Phoebe and Teddy my way. "It's Santa Claus, kids."

"Taylor," I turn to him. "Adjust your beard; they'll never know it's us."

Taylor straightens it and I'm confident—

"Hello Daddy!" Teddy says.

"Hi Uncle Christian!"

"Daddy, why are you dressed up as Santy?" Phoebe asks.

"How did you kids know it was me?"

"Cause you look like Daddy with a furry chin and too many cookies in his tummy on half of one of your sides." Oh shit; the padding's all bunching up again.

"And elves don't wear brown beards," Ava says.

Taylor gives me a look. Yeah, yeah, he told me so.

"Where's the real Santa, Daddy?" Teddy asks.

"Uhh... He's feeling unwell," I say, thinking on my feet—or rather my fur-trimmed boots that have formed blisters the size of snowballs on my heels. "And since we're such good friends, he asked me to stand in."

"Santa's sick tonight?!" Ava asks.

"Santa's gonna die and miss Christmas!" Teddy yells out.

"Ahhhhhh!" Phoebe screams a blood curdling one.

Some kids meandering outside must hear, because there's screaming and bawling and I don't think it's because the birds of the the eleventh day of Christmas are on the loose.

"No, no. Santa's feeling great!" I yell out so everyone can hear. "I meant, he has a headache and he's just resting up for the big night tonight."

"Speaking of tonight,"Ana says, rescuing me. "You guys have to get ready for church!"

"Daddy, I'm gonna sing tonight," Phoebe says.

"Yeah, me too," Ava says and they grab hands and start in on _We Tree Kings of Ornament Art_. No matter how many times I tell them, they still think it's a song about a Christmas Tree decorating contest.

"Do I have to?" Teddy asks, all pouty.

"Yes!" I say, although I remember having to sing in that very same program and I never uttered a word of it. I didn't even speak in those days. And I never sang at all until Ana.

Ana and Kate usher the children out and Elliot follows.

"If you don't mind, sir—" Taylor says, his beard now off.

"Yeah, go change. I'm just straightening a few things up. I'll be in shortly."

Taylor leaves and I look at a few photo print-outs lying on the table. All these spoiled ungrateful kids... My kids may be spoiled, but they're kind. Makes you think the true spirit of Christmas has been lost. Funny, me of all people is lamenting that fact. What do I know about the true meaning of Christmas, anyway?

I hear the jingle bells ringing, alerting me to the opening door.

"Sorry—that door was supposed to be locked," I say. "I have to load up my sleigh for tonight—" I turn to see a tiny boy standing there. He's wearing dirty clothes and worn sneakers and he doesn't look like he's been washed properly for a week.

"Are you Santa Claus?" he says. His voice is so tiny it goes with his frame.

"Uh, yes." I straighten my beard and adjust my gut. "What do you want from Santa?"

"A turkey."

"Oh, I guess you've been talking to those Grey kids." One kid hears about Boone and they all want one. "Santa isn't giving out turkey pets—"

"No, I mean dinner." He steps closer to me, almost as if he's afraid to ask, but I'm the only one he believes he can. "A turkey with mashed taters and the red berries and bread..."

"You want food for Christmas?" my voice breaks.

He nods.

I sit in my chair, almost involuntarily. I need to hear him. "Come sit," I say, patting my knee.

He scampers over and climbs up on me.

"What's your name?"

"Jeremiah. Like the blue-frog."

"You mean bullfrog?"

He nods.

"My mommy says she heard it when I was in her tummy and I was jumping around..."

"How old are you?"

He holds up four fingers.

I take a breath.

Four.

He's awfully light for four. Phoebe feels much heavier than this boy and she's slender like her mother. My gut ceases up. That's how I looked at four. No youthful chubbiness or muscle, only skin and bone and surviving.

"Why do you want the food as your present?" Even before I finish the question, I'm afraid to hear the answer. I already know it, because I lived it.

My mommy lost one of her two jobs and she says we don't have the monies for a fancy dinner for Christmas. So, I thought maybe if you was Santa, you could maybe give us one. Just only for one night."

"You don't have any food?" I swallow, not much getting past the lump in my throat.

"Yeah, mostly..." And I know mostly isn't every night. "But nothing like Christmas food."

"Why didn't you come ask me before?"

"I didn't want anyone else to hear. They make fun."

"You go to the school?"

"Yeah. They don't make me pay 'cause my mommy cleans."

"Where's your father?"

He shrugs. "He didn't like me..." He then looks down at his small fingers and knots them up in a ball. "But, he didn't even meet me yet..."

For the briefest of moments I'm reminded of when Ana told me about Teddy and how I left. If I could kick myself in the teeth for that, I would. Who am I kidding?— I've beat myself up over that time and again. But, as bad as that was, it was just for a handful of hours. To really leave and not come back is a sin I deem unforgivable.

"Santa's Daddy didn't meet him either," I tell him, and it's a confession. I've never allowed myself to spend my thoughts on him—whoever he is. I do wonder in an odd moment if he's alive; if he ever knew; do I look like him and would he be proud because I did. He would be my children's grandfather... But, then I remind myself that all he was looking to do was throw some cash down and fuck a whore.

"But, you're Santa now; he should be proud you got such a big job!"

I have to laugh. He has no idea.

"My daddy is 'post to pay for my food and stuff, but we can't find him."

"Well, Santa has ways of finding people and making them pay up." I'm going to have Welch track this fucker down. "And Santa promises you'll have a nice Christmas meal with all the trimmings."

"Really?" His whole face lights up better than the tree. Most children wouldn't understand what all the excitement is about over a simple dinner. But, I do. Suddenly my Christmas spirits lift. This is what it's all about.

"But, don't you want any presents?"

"No, all I really want is to smile and eat with my mommy."

"Jeremiah!" A woman calls for him.

"Is that your mother?"

"No, that's my friend's mom. I gotta go." He gets up and runs to exit, just stopping at the doorway. "Merry Christmas, Santa!"

"Merry Christmas, Jeremiah!"

I watch him leave, then I pick up my phone and dial.

"Taylor—I want you to get together a Christmas meal tomorrow for a child and his mother, and get a big tree and some presents, and make sure they have somewhere decent to call home. Yes, the works. And have it all there tonight, so he'll have it all first thing..."

I'll also make sure there's a job for his mother at GEH that pays the wages of three. Santa may not have come for me when I waited up that Christmas Eve when I was four, but tonight Santa Claus is coming for that boy. And who knows, like me, maybe a chance meeting through an open door will change his life forever.

#######

"Oh Christian, it's so good to have you here," my mother says as I make my way into the pew, at church, with Ana. My mother takes my hand as we sit down. "I prayed for so many Christmases, before you met this darling girl, for this."

"I know, Mom," I smile and give her hand a squeeze, then put my arm around my wife.

"They let you into this place?" Elliot whispers from the pew behind me and laughs. He has no class, even in church. Although, I am still surprised they let me in here, myself.

"Who's talking?" I ask.

"Shhhh!" Grace says, warning. But, I know deep down it delights her to see her boys playing around in church again.

Reverend Walsh gives me a smile and a nod as he walks with the procession down the aisle. Even a man of faith never believed he'd see me here now. I still remember his face when I told him we were getting married, now he'll soon baptize our third child. Miracles really do happen.

The kids take center stage, all dressed like angels with halos made of wire and tinsel, singing _Oh Come All Ye Faithful_ and getting half the words wrong. Phoebe and Ava are holding hands and swinging them into the head of the kid in front of them, who keeps looking back wondering what the hell just hit him. I can tell Teddy is just pretending to sing. Opening and closing your mouth and hoping nobody will notice you're not forming words is the oldest trick in the book. And it makes you look like a goldfish.

I remember looking out in this audience as a boy—all those eyes staring at me. I was terrified. I stood there the entire time in a state of panic, never smiling, just staring ahead and hoping it would soon be over, much like life itself. I didn't want them to see me, because I didn't believe I deserved to be seen. But now, as I sit watching my own children, holding my wife, with my family, I want the whole world to see my goofy grin.

"Why are you smiling like that?" Ana whispers to me.

"Because I'm the luckiest son-of-a-bitch alive," I whisper in her ear as I gently run my fingers across her bump.

"Do you think God would approve of such language in church?" Ana whispers, teasing.

"Actually—He'd insist on it." I smile as the children begin to sing Silent Night.

#####

"Drop the snow, Taylor!" I whisper yell to him as he stands by a grid that powers the four machines I have set up at various locations outside the house. After the last time—when we almost got shot and arrested and Taylor's head got stuck down the chimney, all in the pursuit of hanging Christmas lights—I never thought I'd be up on the roof with him again so soon, especially at almost one in the morning. But, I want a good blanket on the ground when the kids wake up. And I'm not taking any chances with those little soap blowing shits they use at the malls. Instead, I got those industrial machines they use at ski resorts so I'll be sure to give my family a white Christmas.

Taylor hits one switch, then another and twice more until all machines are up and running.

"I can't believe it!" I say, as flakes begin to fall.

"The snow, sir?"

"No, that we didn't fuck it up!"

"It really must be Christmas miracle, sir."

"Who would've thought we'd ever be here," I say as we stand together, watching our winter wonderland unfold.

"Not me, sir."

"Oh, Taylor..."

"Yes, Mr. Grey?"

"I don't want to make a big thing of it, but I got you a little something... You know, for Christmas..." I reach into my pocket and pull out a box and hand it to him.

"A Christmas present, sir?" I nod. "But, you've given me such a nice bonus and we've exchanged packages with Ana and the kids to open tomorrow—"

"It's just something from me to you."

"I'm touched, sir."

"Okay, enough with the romance, Just fucking open it, will you!" The last thing I want to do is have some ooey gooey Yuletide moment up on the roof with Taylor. "It's just a little something I thought would help you with your job performance, that's all."

He opens it—so slowly. If it's any slower, I'll have to save it for next year..

"Before the kids go to college, Taylor." My ass is freezing up here with all this snow flying in the air.

"Two tickets to Tahiti, sir?" He pulls them out and examines them. I think he's excited, but you can never tell with Taylor; it could be gas. "When are we going?"

"Not you and me, for Pete's sake!" Whoever the hell Pete is anyway. "You and Gail!" Honestly, does he think I want to spend a week with him, alone and away from most of civilization, in one of those honeymoon huts built on top of a lagoon, mostly in our swim trunks?

"How will this help me do my job then, Mr. Grey?"

"Well, I figured, you know, if you're all rested up you'll be more alert to do your tasks upon return."

"Oh Mr. Grey, it's wonderful. Gail will be thrilled." He smiles like I'm sweet or something. This may be the strangest fucking moment of my life.

"Well, you two have fun. I don't need to hear the details."

"You've never told me to do that before, Mr. Grey."

"What?"

"Have fun, sir."

"Well, we've never been up on a roof together on Christmas Eve, either." I gulp; Taylor and I are giving each other firsts.

"I actually have something for you," he says, like he's just remembered something. He reaches into his pocket, pulls out a folded piece of paper and hands it to me.

"A sheet of paper? This is my present?" He nods. Gee, he really went all out.

"I found this and was going to put it in a card for you tomorrow, but now seems the right time, sir."

"What is it?" I take out my iPhone flashlight and read. It's an email dated December 2009. "Is this from me to you?"

He nods.

I read—

 _Taylor,_

 _I won't be needing you over the holidays as business will be slow, so you may spend time with your daughter. Send my family some suitable gifts before you go and tell Gail to prepare meals for one, as I'll spend the time alone to prepare for when business is back up again. Christmas is a good time to get ahead, I find. People are focused on the wrong things. Christmastime is a fool's paradise._

Wow. I look up. That was me.

"I'm glad you needed me over the holidays so much, Mr. Grey." I think he's emotional. It's hard to tell with him, but after all these years I think I just know. "And I'm happy to see you focused on the wrong things now, sir."

"Like Ho-Ho-House lighting contests, and chopping down trees wrong, and blowing snow up here with you?"

"Yes, sir," he smiles. And it's a full one this time, so I'm sure it's not just gas.

"Thank you for this." I fold it up and put it in my pocket. "Now, let's try and get some sleep. The kids won't be up for hours yet."

"Should we just leave these machines running all night, sir?"

"Of course. How else do you think you get a good snowfall?"

#######

"Mommy! Daddy!" the kids say, jumping up and down on the bed. It feels like it's been five minutes since I shut my eyes. I look at the clock; it practically has.

"It's 5:45 in the morning!"

"But, it's Christmas!" Phoebe says and they jump some more.

"Careful with Mommy!" I say, directing their jumping feet away from her belly. So, they jump harder on me and my belly, instead.

"It's still dark outside!" I say.

"But, Santy's been here," Phoebe says. I heard him on the roof last night. I think he's got big feet." She must've heard Taylor and I walking around. Wait until they see the boot prints I left in the living room next to the cookie plate, and the hoof prints on the front porch with the half-eaten carrots. I wanted them to be authentic so I had the animal tamer walk a reindeer around in mud, then take him across the porch. You'd be surprised how much a guy charges to do that at midnight on Christmas Eve.

"Daddy, it snowed!" Teddy says.

"It did?" I feign innocence.

"It wasn't supposed to snow—" Ana says, then gives me a knowing look.

"The magic of Christmas," I shrug.

"And the snow is so high, I can't even see out my window!" Teddy says.

"What do you mean?" I ask.

"If I reached my arms out my window all I'd hug is snow," Phoebe says, mimicking the hug by hugging herself. "It's like Frozen!"

I get up fast and run to the window. They have to be exaggerating. We're on the second floor. There's no way snow can be up to our windows—

"Oh my god—" I say opening the blinds, revealing a wall of pure frozen white.

"What is it, Christian?" Ana asks, leaning up to see.

I turn back to them.

"I think we're snowed in."

#######

Christmas morning calls and while Taylor works to get a crew to dig us out, we celebrate the morning cocooned within. I have to say, I don't mind being sealed away from the world for a little while with my family—especially on Christmas.

"Santy's been here!" Phoebe screams as she and Teddy run to the living room.

Teddy's slipper falls off midway.

"Teddy put your slipper on, you'll catch cold!" But, of course he pays me no mind. All eyes are on the tree— or more importantly what's underneath it, around it, and what's practically piled on top. He doesn't take his eyes off the glitter or gifts, even when I lift his foot and put his slipper back on him, myself.

"I don't remember buying this many gifts," Ana whispers to me, taking in the set-up Taylor and I worked on last night.

"Santa came," I shrug. She shakes her head and smiles, resting it on my shoulder as we sit on the sofa and watch the kids disappear into the wonderland of boxes and ribbons and bows.

"One at a time now!" I say. Teddy's got four in his lap he's trying to get through at once.

"How come this one's got two kinds a papers on it?" Phoebe asks, eyeing the patchwork job I did when I ran out of one pattern mid wrap. And yes, it was important to me to wrap them myself. I may not be a pro, and it may have taken Taylor and I four fucking days and as many odd hours to do it, but we did.

"It's supposed to be that way, it's the design."

Ana giggles. I pull her closer to me and kiss her head. I have to say she's looking pretty hot in that red satin Christmas robe she's tied up in. Santa may need a trip to his workshop later to really tie her up.

"Mine's all wadded up fat at one end and stapled," Teddy says, pointing to his. Oh yeah, I ran out of tape, too.

"It's what's inside that counts," I say.

They rip into the first two and soon two becomes four and four becomes six and the living room floor is buried in as much wrapping paper as the house is covered in man-made snow. I can see Chester—in his candy cane long johns—crawling through the discarded wrapping in hopes to find some fallen sugar cookie—either that or my ankle flesh. I pull up my socks.

"I got a a Debbie-Does-it-all-Doll!" Phoebe says.

"What's that?" I ask. It sounds pornographic.

"She makes me feeded her, dress her and she does potty in her diaper and I have to change her all the time!"

Ana must've bought that. I can tell by the neat wrapping and educational value.

"That's a lot of work for a toy," I say.

"But, I'm her mommy. I gotta do it."

Tell you what, practice real good and you can change the new baby's diapers all the time, too."

"Yay!"

Yeah, that'll last once.

Ana laughs. Every time she giggles her titties jiggle. She's so fucking beautiful. When the kids aren't looking, I give her breast a brush, but she swats me away. "In the workshop, Santa."

"Open those two matching boxes over there," I say.

The kids race over, rip them open and scream in unison—

"Audis!"

"You did not get them matching R8s!" Ana says.

"No, not matching. Teddy's is black like mine and Phoebe's is her favorite color—pink."

"Since when is Santa such an Audi man?"

"What are you taking about? He's safety first. Audi does all his sleighs."

"Can we really drive them?" Teddy asks.

"Of course you can."

"I'm gonna race you, Phoebe!"

"And I'm gonna chase you and then beat your butt!" Phoebe says.

"Hey, no chasing around or beating of butts in this house!" Did I just say that?

"And what's under that big box, Phoebe?" I point.

She runs over and rips the paper off.

"A doll house!" she squeals. "And it's got all pink carpets and a bubble tub!" She means a jacuzzi. That thing is taller than her. And bigger than some real houses. We could probably claim it as another property.

"Look in the garage," I say, pointing to the driveway.

She opens the door of the four-car garage, then screams and giggles with joy. The best Christmas music I could ever here is my family's laughter.

"You did not—" Ana says.

"Yes, Barbie got an R8, too."

"Now, Barbie can race!" Phoebe says.

"Nobody's speeding! And everyone wears seat belts!" Suddenly, my future when they reach driving age flashes before my eyes.

"Teddy, sneak a peek at that. " I point to a tall package in the corner covered in Buzz Lightyear paper.

"Buzz! Where's Woody?"

"Out west, sheriff-ing things."

He rips open the paper to find an exact child-size replica of the space shuttle. That guy from NASA did not disappoint. For a moment, I fear it may really take off in the yard.

"A space ship!" he screams. "This is the coolest I've ever got ever,... Like ever in all the Christmases I was ever alive!" He jumps inside and immediately starts pretending he's blasting off and fighting aliens. I notice the aliens aren't quite as sweet and cartoon-like as I requested, but Teddy has no fear.

"And Chester got a new closet full of fancy clothes!" Phoebe says, finding the hamster wardrobe closet I had built to go in her playhouse. Yes, Chester has his own dressing room now.

"Does that say Versace?" Ana asks, pointing to a label.

"He's a well dressed rat."

"Hamster, Daddy!" Phoebe corrects, almost as exasperated as I am when Elliot calls Charlie Tango a chopper.

"And Boone got new clothes, too!" Teddy says, opening the box of poultry-sized jogging suits.

"What did Grandma Carla get you?" Ana asks. Carla and Bob weren't able to make it in today. Carla couldn't fly in my jet to see her grandkids and pregnant daughter, because Bob wanted to see his great aunt. Ana says she doesn't mind, but I know it hurts her.

"Socks," they both grimace after opening the packages, and toss them away.

"You'll have to wear them when she's in town," she says.

"They'll outgrow them by then," I whisper.

Ana gives me a look to hush it.

"What did she get you?" she asks.

I open the package.

"Socks." I toss them away. She gives me a look. "What? I'm a growing boy, too."

"I got a real trash truck!" Teddy says—him and trash.

"Yes, now you can clean your room without your SUV."

"I think there's one more big one, there, Phoebe!" Ana says.

She runs over to the package in the corner.

"My muscles is tired from all this opening of presents," she says. First world problems.

I had to cover this thing with three whole rolls of wrapping. And by cover I mean throw it on and tape it down hard. She rips away my work in one fell swoop.

"A carol-cell!" She looks up at it in awe as I stand to flip a switch and the ponies start to move up and down as they turn in a circle to their music box version of Beethoven. "With unicorns!"

"You can put it in your room and ride it any time you want."

"You are too much, Daddy," Ana says, smiling.

"Why don't you give your mother what we bought her together?"

The kids scramble underneath the tree to find where we hid it. I had to be rather crafty; Ana's an itchy-fingered box shaker and paper peeling peeper.

"I had no idea anything was back there," Ana says as the kids hand her a gold wrapped box.

"I know," I wink, settling back in next to her on the couch.

"Oh my word," Ana says as she finds a familiar red box inside, which she opens to reveal three bejeweled charms.

"The kids and I thought we'd add to your charm bracelet, so we each picked one out."

"Mine is the pink princess crown," Phoebe says, pointing to a tiara glittering with pink diamonds that's a direct replica of the one I gave to her.

"And mine is a bear, cause that's what you call me," Teddy says. "But, don't show my friends."

"They're so beautiful! I love them so much!" She hugs them and then examines the last one. "An X?"

"No," I rotate it. "It's a plus sign." She looks bemused. "Because you always give me more..."

"This is the best." Tears pool in her eyes as she clasps it in her hand and holds it to her heart, then leans over to give me a kiss.

"And that's not all! I have a surprise for everyone—" they're all staring at me, in anticipation. "Phoebe, where does Eloise live?"

"The Plaza!" she stands, throwing up her arms.

"And where do the best, biggest dinosaurs live, Teddy?"

"Jurassic Park!"

"No! Where do you see the bones?"

"They have them at Jurassic park, too."

"No, in real life!"

"The museum?"

"Yes! And where is the best place in the world to celebrate New Year's Eve?

"New York City?" Ana asks.

"We're going to New York for New Years!" I say. "And I've got us the grandest suite at the Plaza!"

"Just like Eloise!" Phoebe squeals.

"We're not staying at the apartment?" Ana asks.

"Well, I thought we could celebrate with the kids early in the evening at the suite and you and I could celebrate more that night back at our apartment, while Taylor and Gail stay with them."

"You mean play, Santa." Ana whispers and she bites her lip.

"Oh yes, I have a few new games I'd like to play with you, Mrs. Grey."

"What kinda games are you gonna play?" Phoebe asks.

"Nothing you need to know about until you're thirty."

"We got you a present, Daddy!" Teddy says, handing me a good sized square, flat box.

I had no idea this was back there," I say to Ana.

"I know," she winks in return.

I slowly open one end, taking in the beautiful wrap job—well, beautiful because my kids did it. It's got three odd bows, Sesame Street paper and a card attached that reads Daddy, but with the big D backwards and the y falling off like it's about to jump ship, but hasn't fully committed. However, I do have to note they did a neater job with the tape than me.

I open it up and my heart stops. It's a picture drawn in crayon and framed in gold. It's a mom with a large belly in a yellow dress; a boy and a girl, and a dad with floppy copper hair in a gray suit coat and pants that only come down to his knees. And he's smiling. I touch his face. "Is that me?"

They nod. And I marvel that this is how my kids see me—smiling. Nobody in my life has ever seen me like that before.

"It's our family," Phoebe says.

"We even drew Chester and Boone," Teddy says, showing me the large mahogany bird and little yellow fluff ball near his feet.

I'm speechless for a moment, taken back to that picture I drew for my mother as a boy. The streaks of blue that were her hair. What Was. What wasn't. What is now.

"Look at the engraving at the bottom," Ana points, and there are tears in her eyes.

"Mine," I read, and I touch the letters, because I want to feel that they're really there.

"Do you like it, Daddy?" Phoebe asks.

I must've been staring at it for longer than I thought, because they're all waiting for my reaction. But, it's not something I can adequately put into words, so I don't.

I pull both my kids into my lap and with my arms around them and Ana, I hold them as close as I can. I notice not one inch of my chest is left untouched, and I also notice I'm smiling.

"This is the best Christmas present I've ever been given," I say, kissing each of them.

"Your eyes are wet again, Daddy," Phoebe says.

"Yes, they are." I smile. Because, this time I'm not crying for what was lost, my tears are for what I've found.

#######

The kids are passed out sleeping amidst the paper and toys as Ana and I sit curled up on the sofa, drinking coffee and cocoa, listening Christmas music and watching the scene.

"Well done, Mr. Grey," Ana says, tucking her head against my shoulder and curling her legs over my lap, as I stroke her hair. "A little over the top, but wonderful."

"Would you expect anything less?"

"No." And I can feel her smile against my neck.

"I wonder if Taylor has made any progress on that snow. I want to play with the kids out there."

"Oh, I hope so! The family will be here soon."

"Then again, maybe we shouldn't dig ourselves out just yet—" She gives me a playful swat. "What? This is all the Christmas I need right here anyway."

"Me, too." She curls in closer. "But, they are so looking forward to it. I should probably get this mess cleaned up."

She starts to move and I pull her back.

"No, leave it for awhile longer. It's beautiful."

"The wrapping paper and tissue and torn through boxes?"

"Yes." I grin. I don't want to clean up Christmas too fast. I want to remember all this. "Besides, I think it's time for your present."

"But, you already gave me such beautiful things—and the charms."

"Just think of it as a gesture to make up for the fact the twelfth day of Christmas couldn't get through the snow today."

"I'll never get to see the drummer's drumming, she laughs.

"Well, at least I don't have to listen to those pipers anymore—or those maids!"

"I think they liked you."

"The feeling was definitely not mutual."

I quietly pull out a box from the table behind me and hand it to her.

"It's wrapped in ice cream cones," she giggles.

"Vanilla. I saw the paper and I couldn't resist." I grin. "Go ahead, open it up."

I nervously wait as she unties the bow and peels the paper back.

"Oh Christian," she says, opening it to find another familiar red box.

"You haven't even seen inside."

Rubies framed by diamonds sparkle up at her as she lifts the top. She gasps when she sees it. And that's my gift, to watch the jewels light her eyes.

"This is not a trinket. These are... I don't have words." She marvels at the necklace, touching the blood red stones..

"Do you like them?" I so hope she does.

"They're exquisite."

"Like you." I take them out and she lifts her hair as I place them around her neck. "I wanted to give you something that will always remind you of this Christmas. It may have been crazy and over-the-top and out-of-control at times, but it was ours.

"Ours," she says, touching the stones over her heart and I use my thumb to wipe the tear falling from her lashes.

"Don't cry, Mrs. Grey"

"I'm just so happy."

"I know."

I stroke her face and she places her hand on top of mine, and pulls it to her lap to hold.

"I was going to save this for later tonight, but I have one more gift for you, Mr. Grey."

"Ana, the children are in the room—"

"Not that! A real gift."

"Trust me, that's a real gift." I lean in to nibble her ear. "Maybe we can sneak away—"

"Stop it! I really have something for you." Suddenly she's serious.

"What?—no. I thought we exchanged everything."

She shakes her head and then tip-toes over to the end table, opens a drawer and quietly makes her way back, carrying a small flat white box with two yellow bows on top that look to be purposely placed in a line, side-by-side. She sits and hands it to me.

"What is this?"

"Remember the other day when I said I had an appointment about your gift and there would be two?" she asks.

"Yes," I say, opening the end of the package. "I thought that was the driving gloves.

She laughs.

"Well, I thought I was going to get you one gift, but like everything with us, it turned out to be another first..., or second, depending on how you look at it..." She's talking so breathy and excited. What could this be? "You should really look at it."

I open the box to find another frame—this one silver—with what looks like an ultrasound picture.

"Is this our new little blip?"

She nods, beaming from ear-to-ear.

"You got me a framed picture? I love it—" I lean in to kiss her, but she puts a finger to my lip.

We're not done here...

"That was my intention yesterday; to go to Dr. Greene to get one to frame for you, but... Take a look at the picture."

"I did, there's our blip—" I point to it.

"No, take a closer look..."

What is she up to? For a minute I'm terrified there's something wrong with our child, but then I figure she wouldn't give me the news as my Christmas present. I look closely and examine the picture. Am I supposed to be looking for a penis or something? No, it's too soon and I can never detect genitalia on these things undirected. And she knows that; every time I showed off Teddy's ultrasound I kept bragging as I pointed to his arm. I don't see anything different. It all seems usual—name of the mother at the top, white noise, two little blips—

Two little blips?! I do a double take of the double take.

"Two blips?" I say, the two catching in my throat. I look up at her and she nods. "Two? You mean—" She nods again. "I knocked you up twice?." She nods again. "At once?" She nods once more. "We're going to have twins?"

"Yes!"

I put the picture down and pull her into my arms to give her the biggest, wettest kiss I can without taking her right here on the sofa.

"That's why you're so big?' I hold my hands on both sides of her face so I can really see her.

She nods again.

"I couldn't believe it when she told me," she says. "I guess the other heartbeat was hidden before... But, she says we have two healthy babies—"

"Two healthy babies. Oh Ana, I love you so much!"

"I love you, too!"

I kiss her again and again. I can't stop.

"What's all the noise?" Teddy asks, waking up from the floor.

"Mommy and Daddy are kissing again," Phoebe says, rolling her eyes, just like her mother, as she yawns.

"Kids—we have big news! Mommy's having twins!" I say.

"Yay!" Phoebe says. "Two sisters!"

"No, two brothers!" Teddy says.

"Sisters!" Phoebe shoves.

"Brothers!" Teddy shoves back.

I pull them apart just before there's a knock-down drag-out in the holiday wrapping. How are we going to handle four? _Four_! I can't contain myself.

"We don't know what they are yet," I say to the kids, then turn to Ana. "We don't know that, do we?" She seems to be finding everything out without me, but who fucking cares—it's twins!

She shakes her head. "Next month."

"Sir," Taylor says, entering from the foyer. "Most of the walkway is cleared away—"

"Taylor—" I run over to him and give him a hug. I think he's taken by surprise. "It's the best present I could get!"

"Don't mention it, sir. I used to dig my mother out after blizzards as a child..."

"Not the snow! I'm going to be a father—twice!"

"You already are, sir..."

"No, I mean at once—again! I'm doubling my lot in one shot!"

He looks confused.

"We're having twins, Taylor," Ana says, and I think she's laughing at me or with me—who the fuck cares. She's laughing and it's the greatest sound in the world.

"Congratulations, Mrs. Grey, sir!"

I return to Ana and pull her into my arms.

"Merry Christmas, Mrs. Grey."

"Merry Christmas, Christian."

And we kiss. Who the hell needs the mistletoe when you're having twins?

#######

"I didn't know it snowed," my mother says, entering the great room with my father, Mia and my grandparents as they all balance armfuls of gifts. I can spy all of Mia's—they're pink and polka-dotted with fuzzballs for bows.

"It was an isolated storm, I say," as I help them put the packages around the tree. We just cleaned up this place, now it's time for round two. _Two_! It's my new favorite number.

I think Chester—in his faux fur hoodie and ski pants— just found a girlfriend in one of Mia's bows.

"Ava's here! Ava's here!" Phoebe says when the doorbell rings and she rushes with Ana to greet my brother and his brood. Jose and his father are right behind them.

"Merry Christmas, Mr. Rodriguez," I say to the old man and nod to Jose. "Has it been good so far?"

"I passed stones last week." Jose Sr. says, like that's my answer.

"Well, good to get that out of the way before the new year."

"There's so much powder out there, you could ski off your front porch," Elliot says.

"I nearly got hit by an avalanche on the way in," Kavanagh says. I briefly wonder if I should send her back out for something to see if two times is the charm. _Two_!

"What are you wearing around your neck?" Kavanagh asks Ana.

"My Christmas present," Ana beams and Kate's eyes practically pop out of her head. That's right, look at my rubies and weep, Kate.

"Well, I hope she got you something good in return," Elliot says.

"Oh, she beat me—two-fold."

"Why are you smiling so much?" Mia asks me.

"I just love that everyone is here."

"I think he just gave his wife the big package!" My grandfather says and Elliot and Kavanagh laugh.

"Dad!" Mom says. Poor Grace.

Taylor and Gail enter with Sophie. She's almost all grown up. When did that happen? The kids run up to her excitedly as she's part of the family, though I think Teddy has a bit of a crush. I remember first meeting that child when she was just as little older than my own. Like most people, I think she was scared of me then, but not anymore.

"Uncle Jose!" Phoebe and Ava say, running up and hugging him. Why do they like him so much? I'm the one who gives the big presents.

"Hey girls!"

"Guess what I getted for Christmas?" Phoebe asks.

"I don't know, what?"

"Santa brought me snow! And a dollhouse! And a new Audi! And twin sisters!"

The whole room stops. Well, I guess the cat's outta the bag now. And the fact that my girl dropped it hissing and clawing on Jose's head has me smiling from ear-to-ear.

"Lucky!" Ava squeals and she and Phoebe hold hands and jump up and down. "I want two sisters, mommy!" Ava says to Kavanagh and I think I hear Elliot gulp.

"You could borrow them when I'm not playing with them," Phoebe says.

"What did Phoebe just say?" Kavanagh asks, looking straight at Ana.

Ana smiles and nods.

"You're having twin girls?"

"I don't know that yet, but yes, we're having twins!" They both squeal and jump up and down just like Ava and Phoebe did.

"I knew my boy shot straight!" My grandfather says. He gives me an enthusiastic, and apropos, two thumbs up, then mimics shooting his finger guns.

"Dad—" Grace says again—her face the color of the cranberries—then turns to me and smiles. "Oh Christian, Ana, I'm so happy for you!" She hugs us both and my father does the same.

"Do you get two from two times in the same night?" my grandmother asks. Why is my family so painfully embarrassing?

"Did you hear that, Elliot?" I ask. "Two-for-one..."

"Damn man, you're gonna be the old man in the shoe," he says. "Congrats bro, I'm proud of you." He pats me on the shoulder and I think, for once, he means it. "You're sure making up for lost time since Ana popped your cherry."

I roll my eyes.

"I'm so happy for you, Annie," Ray says, pulling her into one of his patented bear hugs. "And to think I wasn't so sure when you asked me for her hand." He pulls me into one now, too. "Thank you for making my little girl so happy."

"Always." And it's a promise.

I hold Ana close and watch as my family talks and laughs, really about nothing, which makes it all the more something. It's the nothing you remember anyway. The kids are chasing each other around the tree. The smell of holiday fare permeates. And as I look out on all of this, I think maybe I was right when I wrote that email all those years ago. Christmas is a paradise for fools.

And I'm their proud fucking king.

#######

"Santa Claus," Ana peeks around the corner from her dressing room as I sit in full suit in the bedroom, waiting for her in my chair.

"Yes, young lady?"

"I love what you gave me this morning..."

She comes out wearing nothing but her sky high Louboutins and that necklace.

"Oh trust me, there's evidence to suggest I love it more."

She smiles and slinks over to me. I run my hands up her thighs to her hips, along the curve of her waist, then to her belly. I kiss her bump twice and then pull her to sit on my lap, just narrowly escaping that evidence.

"These are beautiful," I slide my fingers from her jewels to the real prize—her ample breasts—then brush and pinch her nipples.

She throws her head back and moans.

"Even bad girls get rewarded on Christmas," I say, continuing my torment.

She brings her head to straight, then leans in and whispers in my ear— "But, I think you forgot to give me my big present." She reaches down and strokes the gift she intends to receive. "Will you come down my chimney again for me, Santa Claus?"

"Oh yes. For you, Santa's definitely going to come again."


	7. New Years, New York

_Dear Santa,_

 _Thank you for the best Christmas ever! The dinner was yummy! It made my tummy so full I couldn't fit any more inside. I never had that feeling before. I like that feeling. My tummy's not mad and growling at me now. It's smiling like my face. My mommy (who's helping me write this) says thank you, too. I never knew Santa could get people good jobs and health insurances and groceries every week! And the new house we're moving into isn't in a scary place anymore. It has a yard and a swing set and I won't have to take the bus on that long ride to school and back. I'll be near my friends. And Mommy can spend more time with me now, too. You must be better than a lightning strike on one hump of a two humped camel because Mommy said that was more likely to happen than ever finding my dad and making him pay for me. But, you made that happen, too. By the way, he called and says the checks will start up next week and said to tell you so the courts, the IRS (I guess he didn't report what he made and someone told) and some guy named Taylor will get off his back._

 _When I waked up on Christmas I had to rub my eyes over and over, 'cause I thought I was still dreaming, but I wasn't. The lights and the tree and the presents with my name on them were really real life. I never knew dreams could happen when you were awake. Now I do. I knew you were Santa right when I saw you, not because of the red suit or the white furry beard. 'Cause you have kind eyes and you listened to me._

 _I hope you and Mrs. Claus have a nice vacation after your business trip on your sleigh around the world. It must be tough being the most importantest guy on the earth. I don't care about all that. I'm just glad you're my friend._

 _Jeremiah_

 _#######_

 ** _TEN..._**

"Where is everybody?" I ask Taylor as he loads the SUV with seventeen bags for our four night stay in New York for New Year's. Honestly, how does a four-year-old girl have more luggage than me? How does a hamster? We were supposed to leave twenty-seven minutes ago! I've made a strict itinerary for us to follow so we get everything in—including ample mommy-and-me playtime. Not for the kids. For Ana and me. I've got some surprises in store for my wife that will knock her socks, her stilettos and her La Perla panties off.

"I think Mrs. Grey said she forgot something inside, sir."

"Forgot something inside? The whole house is packed in the back of this thing!" I point to the car. "I think inside forgot most of itself out here!"

A familiar roar steals my attention. Familiar, but smaller. Less lion, more cub.

I feel a swoosh against my pant leg and look down to see two mini Audi R8s driven by my two cubs go whizzing past my legs.

"What are you two doing?" I yell out as Teddy and Phoebe continue to do loops around me. It's like mini me car and driver.

"Races!" Phoebe says as she slams a foot on the pedal. I'm glad to see they're both wearing the helmets I've insisted upon. And so is Chester. I can see him peeking out from the pocket of Phoebe's sweater, wearing a leather bomber jacket and scarf as his fur flies dramatically in the rush of wind. He reminds me of the Red Baron. Either that or Howard Hughes in his Spruce Goose days.

"Stop!" I yell.

They bring their actions to a halt. I'm glad I still hold some authority around here.

"Daddy, I was winning!" Teddy says.

"No you wasn't!" Phoebe yells back. "You were just so far behind you thought you was."

"Kids! You're going in circles, no one is winning!" Especially me. In fact, I'm the one losing sleep and sanity ever since I gave them these things. From sun up to sun down it's like the Audi Daytona 500 around here. "Why are you in your cars right now?"

"Driving to New Yawk," Teddy says. The way he pronounces it he already sounds like a native.

"Well, first of all you're both speeding, not driving, and second of all you don't need to drive anywhere, we're taking the plane."

"But, how will I get around in the big city?" Teddy asks.

"I'll hail you a cab."

"Can I drive a cab when I grow up?" Teddy asks.

"No." He's in an R8 at six and he wants to be a Taxi driver? First a trash man, now this. Where have I gone wrong?

"Why not?"

"Because cab drivers don't drive sports cars and go to college."

"Daddy where's your hat?" Phoebe asks.

"What do you mean?"

"You said we're going to Man-hat-in. Every man's gotta have a hat or he won't get in."

"It's in the car, where we're all supposed to be. Let's go!"

"Can Boone come?" Teddy asks.

"No, we're not taking a turkey to the the Plaza!" It's bad enough we're taking Chester. Just what New York City needs—another rodent on 5th Avenue in a designer wardrobe. I better not take the kids on the subway. One look at those dog-sized rats on tracks and they'll want a new pet and Chester will have a wife.

"But he might get lonely."

"He's got cable television, an ergonomically designed massage recliner and three caretakers at his beckon call. He'll be fine. Now put the cars away and let's go."

They begrudgingly take off for the mini garages I had built by their playhouse. Chester snarls. If he had regular fingers I think he would flip me off. Instead he just raises a foot in a way that says _fuck you_ with his claws.

"Not that fast!" I yell after them as they motor on, but they don't slow.

"I think we have everything," Ana says, coming out of the house, carrying another case. I swear four months along and you'd think she was seven. I still can hardly believe there's two in there. Every morning before she wakes up I rest my head on her belly to see if I can feel them or hear anything. Nothing much yet, but I can't wait until they both start kicking. I may never stop touching her belly then.

"Ana!" I run up to her and take it from her. "You shouldn't be carrying that in your condition."

"It's a make-up case," she says like that's an everyday occurrence or something.

"You don't need any makeup. You're beautiful without. Besides, you don't know what chemicals all this stuff has in it that could pose a threat to our unborn children."

"So you think mascara is a danger?"

"It's a risk."

"You know, we've done this twice before."

"But never twice at once!" She shakes her head like I'm silly or something. "Ana, would you rather have long dark lashes or your children have all their brain cells?"

"I'm more worried about my husband right now."

"Ha ha. Very funny. But, I don't care if you mock me. It's my job to look out for the three of you." I stroke her belly and pull her in close to kiss her head. "Which reminds me—you need three times the rest and three times the food!"

"By the end of this I'll be three times the woman!"

"From your lips to God's ears." I give her a kiss and swat her ass. If only she'd keep a little hubba-hubba on her post birth.

I take the case and hand it to Taylor and he looks for a place to put it. It's like a game of Jenga in this car—and I'm losing.

"Kids! Come on!" I yell. They're now running circles around some trees. What's this need for all this circle racing? Maybe they'll burn some energy off and sleep on the plane. Maybe Ana and I can sneak off to the bedroom mid air and burn off some energy of our own.

Finally I'm able to round everyone up and secure them inside.

"Let's go, Taylor," I say just before I climb in.

"Sir, there's a problem," he says, approaching me as he talks on his phone.

"What is it?"

'"It's the jet, sir. There's an engine issue. They don't think they can fix it it until tomorrow."

"We can't leave tomorrow! It's New Year's Eve tomorrow! I have the whole day planned!" I have to think quick. "Okay, forget the jet. Let's just get first class tickets on a flight leaving as soon as possible. There shouldn't be any problem with that."

#######

 **NINE**...

"What do you mean first class is sold out?" I ask the woman at the desk at the airport— _Betti_. I don't know why it annoys me she has no _y_ or _e_ at the end, but it just does. Like she's trying to make regular _Betty_ flirty and fun and eternally sixteen, when she's like sixty-two and anything but. She's got her hair teased like she's getting married in Vegas in twenty minutes and she may choose the Elvis impersonator over the groom. Whatever the case, the pain in the ass that _Betti_ is is even bigger than her hair.

"New York City is a popular New Years destination," she snickers at me, like I'm so irresponsible to not plan ahead. It's a fucking flight! I didn't gamble away my kid's college funds on a long-shot horse.

"I realize that, that's why I'm going!"

"Hey man! Move it. I'm gonna miss my flight!" says some idiot breathing up my neck instead of down it because he's hobbit short. I choose to ignore him and the pajama jeans he's donning. Why is he already wearing his neck pillow?

"Is there a later flight?" I ask her.

"All First Class is sold out. All the flights are. There's something tomorrow—"

"If I wanted to wait until tomorrow I'd fly on my private jet!"

"Well, la-di-frickin-da," the idiot says. "Why don't you take a seat on thy throne whilst us commoners are busy not missing our flights!"

I bite my tongue. Ignore the shit.

"Who has the seats on the next flight? I'll buy them out," I turn back, asking Betti.

"I can't tell you that, sir." Betti says. "That would be compromising information."

"Believe me, with the amount of money I'm about to offer them they'll want you to compromise their privacy. In fact they'd insist on it."

"I'm sorry, I can't help you."

"But, you have to—"

"She can't help you, so fucking get a hint and move it, Richie Rich!" the guy yells at my back. Is a man who has to stand on his tippy toes to kiss five feet really that stupid to pick a fight with guy like me? Does he not see my tris and bis and Claude perfected pecs? I think my fist is bigger than his whole head. It's certainly smarter.

I turn around and point a finger down in his face.

"Okay, I have had enough of your shit—"

"Mr. Grey!" Taylor, who's standing close by, says as he rushes over and ushers me out of the way before an altercation ensues.

"Taylor, you have to find out who's in first class and bribe them."

"How should I do that, sir?"

"You know, pull out some hundreds, the black Amex, and whatever..."

"No, I mean how should I get the information, sir?"

"How'd you get information out of people when you were in the military?"

"I don't think I could do that at an airport, sir." He looks away. Suddenly I'm disturbed and don't want to know further. I'm just glad he's on my side.

"They're not war criminals! Just ask around and flash your items. Trust me, they'll be interested!" Although Taylor flashing around his items of interest to anyone disturbs me.

Taylor goes off to do his thing and I approach Ana, who's standing with the children and Gail, and pull her into my arms.

"Don't worry, everything is going to be okay, baby."

"Christian, we can go after New Years," she says, looking up at me with those big blue eyes.

"No, I promised you guys New York and you're going to get New York."

"Maybe I shoulda brought my car and drive us," Teddy says.

"I think so, Buddy," I say to him, and ruffle his copper curls.

We have to endure thirty minutes in this dirty, germ infested terminal, waiting for Taylor to make some progress. There's a man coughing to my left. I can't tell if it's from disease or cigarettes, but I suddenly wish I would've brought masks. And a woman flipping pages of a magazine and giggling to herself. But, it's not cute Ana giggles. It's sounds like an inebriated goat trying to get away with something.

I pull out the hand sanitizer and squirt it in everyone's hands.

"We just did this," Ana says.

"Trust me, you need a reapplication."

"Sir, I just bought off a family of three," Taylor says upon return as I hop up to meet him. That woman with the magazine looks up like I'm a Mafia Don bribing jurors or something. Mind your own business, goat throat. "We need to pay for a trip to Disneyland, but—"

"In California?"

"Yes, sir."

"But, they were going to New York."

"They were going to Disney World by way of New York, sir. I sold them on Los Angeles." I'm curious as to how and why Taylor became a travel advocate for Hollywood all of a sudden, but I don't give a fuck. We have seats!

"Wait! There are six seats in first class, you only have three!"

They call our flight. We're running out of time.

"The other three seats aren't up for negotiation, sir." He looks serious about this. "But, there are three in coach—"

"No! That won't do! Who are these other three in first class?

"It's not three, it's just one man, sir.

"One man for three seats?"

"Yes, sir."

"Why the hell did he do that?"

"I don't think he likes people very much, sir." Geez, what did he say to Taylor?

"Well neither do I, so maybe we'll get along. Let me talk to this guy. I'll convince him."

#######

"You think just because you're damned rich you can buy off everyone?" an old man in a cowboy hat and boots that look like weapons that should be banned from flights, says to me as he dramatically buckles into his first class seat just to spite me. I was wrong—we don't get along.

"I'd appreciate it if you didn't raise your voice in front of my children," I say as calmly as I can, but what I really want to do is wring this fucker's neck. Nothing I say is getting through. Who the hell turns down $20,000, a trip in my jet to NYC first thing tomorrow and a subsequent island vacation to sit next to some empty chairs? Heck, I even offered to buy just the two empty seats so he could still have his and Taylor could ride in coach, but that was a no-go. He apparently doesn't want people close enough to touch him. A scary thought crosses my mind—this could've been me in forty years if Ana hadn't come along.

"Well, don't harass me in from of 'em."

"He said her ass!" Teddy says and the kids giggle as Ana hushes them and pulls them away.

"Look, I need seats for my family—"

"So my family is less important than yours?"

"You don't have any family. It's just you and two empty seats."

"Who are you to judge?"

"Look, I can pay you in cash—"

"Do you think anyone who pays for two empty first class seats is hard up on cash?"

"I didn't mean to imply that. I just thought the cash would be an incentive—"

"I bought these seats so no one would surround me. I don't like to be surrounded. And right now, you and your goddamn brood are surrounding me!"

"Don't speak about my family like that—"

"Is there a problem?" a flight attendant asks on approach.

"Yeah, this guy is threatening me," the fucker says.

"Me?! I just offered you money—"

"You propositioned me!" He looks to the flight attendant. "He won't leave me alone! He keeps demanding to sit with me! I told him I'm not interested in his advances—"

"Advances?!" What the literal fuck? "I don't care anything about you as a person, all I want is your seat!" That didn't come out right.

"Sir, you need to move," the flight attendant says to me.

"Christian," Ana says, pulling me aside. "It's okay, we can sit in economy."

"No! My pregnant wife is not sitting in economy. I don't want your ankles swelling or you getting blood clots or anything. You need rest and comfort in your condition." I run a hand through my hair, trying to think. "Ana, you sit here with Gail and Phoebe. Teddy, Taylor and I will sit in the back."

"Why do I gotta go back there?" Teddy asks.

"Because you're a gentleman."

"Every time I'm a gendler-man I miss out on all the fun."

"One day you'll have all the fun because of it, trust me."

#######

"Would you like something to drink, sir?" a flight attendant bats her eyes at me, as I'm squished between my son—who instead of sitting in his seat is on my lap, kneeing my groin as he tries to get a look out the window—and a woman who keeps making the sign of the cross and mumbling prayers that we won't crash while staring out of said window. I can't see the window at all. My view is of my knees pushed nearly to my face, the cover of a complimentary _High in the Sky_ magazine and Taylor's earphone wearing head sticking up over the seat in front of me.

"No, I'm fine." I try to wave her away, but like a gnat fueled by man-blood, she just won't go.

"It's on me," she says. More batting. Jesus, she's come over here three times since the seatbelt sign went off—and that was only five minutes ago. How many times can I tell her I don't want her liquor or other free services before she gets a hint? Doesn't she see my wedding ring? Or the fact that I have a six-year-old boy crawling on top of me? Can't she add one and one and get two? Actually, from the looks of her, probably not.

"It'll be on you courtesy of my wife in first class if you continue with this nonsense."

"I'm twenty-four, single and willing to be discreet."

"Congratulations. Speaking of first class, I hear there's a guy up there who likes his space invaded. Go be discreet with him."

She frowns. Finally she leaves me alone.

"How much longer, Daddy?" Teddy asks, plopping down in my lap with a painful thud to my nuts.

"We've only been up in the air for twenty minutes," I grimace, attempting to adjust him to a more comfortable position. Guess what?—there isn't one.

"How many hours is that?"

"None. It's only twenty minutes. You need sixty for an hour. Which is three twenties." Math lesson of the day.

"So in three twenties we'll be there?"

"No, more like eighteen."

"Eighteen twenties?!" His eyes grow wide. "Will we get there before we get old and look like the hardest raisins at the bottom of the purple bran box and die?"

"You know son, it doesn't feel like it."

Speaking of death, the woman next to me can't stop chanting about it.

I peek up over the seat in front of me to see what Taylor's up to. He's watching some documentary on a lost form of martial arts and I think it's in Russian. Boris and Banana-head are kicking the shit out of each other on train tracks in the middle of some dead grass field on screen. Does Taylor speak Russian? Odd... There's so much I don't know about that man. Whatever—he's snug as a bug up there. I guess foreign combat makes him warm and fuzzy.

I see the first class curtain move up ahead and my daughter's face peeking out. She giggles when she sees me and then quickly hides again. She repeats this action several times until I motion to her to stop and head back to her seat, which she promptly ignores and heads straight for me and mine.

"What are you doing?" I ask as she crawls up into my lap next to Teddy. Double the weight on my internal organs now.

"Coming to visit you," she says, twisting her knee into my stomach to make sure she didn't miss one.

"Does your mother know?"

She nods.

"But, you have that nice big seat up in first class."

"But, I wanted to see what the other side of the curtain was like." God, I hope that's not her rational in high school when she meets a boy from the wrong side of the tracks. "And that old man with the imaginary friends snores!"

"Where's Chester?" The last thing I need is a rat in Versace loose on a plane.

"In his case with Mrs. Taylor."

"What do you have in your hand?" I point to the Tupperware she's carrying.

"Mrs. Taylor made me crud sticks and hummus for a snack."

"I love crud sticks!" Teddy yells, far too loudly.

"It's crudités. Why don't both of you share it." I encourage them to move to Teddy's seat, but they decide Dad's lap and shoulder make a better table. I don't know why I made so much effort to buy the first class seats. The kids and I are sharing one coach.

"Is hummus made of ham butt?" Teddy asks.

"Ham butt?" I ask. Oh, ham ass. What's his obsession with the word ass lately? Where did he even hear it? Maybe I should watch my mouth more. "No it's made of beans."

They both look at each other. "Eww."

"Billy Ruthburger says beans make you fart."

"Well, Billy Ruthburger is just like his father, he has farts for brains."

They laugh hysterically. I never thought I was a comedian until I took up potty humor.

That flight attendant is back and she's holding a glass.

Oh good God.

"I didn't ask for this," I say as she forces what looks like a rum and Coke into my hand. "In fact, I recall insisting you didn't bring it."

"I thought you might not realize how thirsty you are or how good it would taste." She winks at me and attempts to swish her hips as she walks away, before I can give it back. What the hell? This woman thinks I'll cheat on my wife for a free shot of rum, a batty lashed wink, and a swish of airline polyester? What's even worse, she sees there are two children in my lap now.

"I wanna watch a movie!" Teddy says.

"Yeah, the one about all of the cutest bugs!" Phoebe says.

"Okay! Okay!" What the fuck am I supposed to do with this drink? I can't take out my tray because my knees are slammed against it. And my kids are all over me, so I can barely move my arms.

I keep hold of it and maneuver to pull out my iPad from the seatback holder I placed it in. They grab it and turn on "A Bug's Life". I really hope they stop watching this movie or one day I'll be stuck buying designer clothes for our new pet dung beetle.

"We can't hear it!" Phoebe says. But, there's no way I can manage to find them earbuds.

"You've seen it 500 times, listen to the soundtrack in your mind."

I try to stretch my legs, but can't get them beyond ninety degrees. These seats aren't made for anyone over 5'2", let alone a man over a foot taller. I can hear Taylor laughing up ahead at his movie. What's there to laugh at in a Russian martial arts film? Anyway, he's having a jolly old time of it. I try and rest my head back and close my eyes, but all I hear are the Hail Marys in my left ear. I turn my head and look over at the perpetually terrified woman and she sees me.

"I'm a little scared to fly," she says, clutching her rosary.

I nod and give her smile that's half empathetic and half fucking shut up.

Suddenly there's a jolt of turbulence.

"We're going down!" Hail Mary woman screams out at the top of her lungs.

The kids hear this and start screaming as well.

"Daddy! The plane's going down!" Teddy says.

"Ahhhh! Daddy, I'm scared! We're all going to die!" Phoebe yells and they both grab onto me.

"No one's dying!" I say.

The woman next to me is wailing now and the bead prayers get louder and more intense as the seatbelt sign goes on. Then, all of a sudden, she gets up and tries to take off, but she can't get past my legs. What the fuck is wrong with this woman? Is she trying to run? We're in fucking mid air!

"What are you doing?" I ask her. She doesn't answer, she just tries to force my knees out of her way. "Trust me, they're not going anywhere. I already tried." Another jolt forces her back down to sit.

"You need to get back in your seats!" I say to the kids, but they're not having it.

"No! I don't want to go!" Phoebe says. They've both got me in a death grip.

Another jolt and the fucking rum and coke I've been forced to hold onto spills all over my lap.

"Jesus!" I say as the chill of crushed ice hits my balls.

"Have you seen him? Are we dead?" the woman cries out.

"No, I spilled my drink!"

"The children need to return to their seats," a flight attendant says.

"Kids come on! You need to buckle up."

They hold to me tighter. I feel something wet and mushy being spread all over my face and hair. Oh god, it's the hummus from Phoebe's hand!

There's another jolt. Suddenly this woman next to me is grabbing onto my arm. I'm beginning to freak out. I can be touched by my loved ones now with ease, but not a complete stranger digging her fingernails in my arm.

"Get off of me!" I say to her, trying to pull my arm away, but her grip just gets stronger.

Phoebe has now completely wrapped her body around my face and is suffocating me, while Teddy is on the floor hiding, trying to pull me down.

"What are you doing, Teddy?"

"They say when you feel shakes you gotta get under something!"

"That's an earthquake, not turbulence!" Although I don't think he hears me. My words are so muffled as my nose and mouth are smashed against Phoebe's shoulder. She then kicks her knee up, hitting my chin which makes me bite my own tongue.

"Get the children in their seats!" the flight attendant says all reprimanding, like I'm a negligent father.

"I'm trying!" I say, but my tongue doesn't join in on the conversation due to the throbbing and blood. "But, I can't move!"

"We're all going down!" The woman next to me yells and holds onto me like I'm a parachute.

"Ahhhhh!" Phoebe screams.

"Taylor, do something!" I yell out, fighting to look over the seat. He doesn't answer. But, I can hear him laughing. And through the crack between the seats I see he's oblivious, still watching that fucking film.

#######

 **EIGHT...**

"Well, that was a nice flight," Ana says as Taylor drives us through the city. He's so fucking rested. I don't think he ever even noticed there was turbulence at all.

"If you don't count the fingernail marks on my arm, my sprained tongue or my rum soaked underwear, then it was _yar_."

She laughs, which makes me smile, too.

"We'll get you cleaned up." And she bites her lip. My, Mrs. Grey is feeling naughty. First class must've agreed with her. The skies just got a little friendlier down below.

"Yes, maybe we can get away for a shower."

"You guys must get dirty a lot!" Phoebe says.

"Why would you say that?" I ask, horrified. How does she know about any of that?

"You're always taking showers," she shrugs. Oh good, she just thinks we're a mess.

"When I grow up I'm never taking showers!" Teddy says.

"Believe me, they'll grow on you." I take Ana's hand and bring it to my lips to kiss.

"Look, Daddy! There it is!" Phoebe squeals as she points out her window.

We've arrived at the Plaza Hotel. I've been here many times in my life and it's always stunning—it's timeless elegance edged by and overlooking the park— but somehow seeing it through my daughter's eyes, after experiencing it with her through the pages of her book, and having my family all with me, well, it's just more.

Taylor pulls up out front of the grand entrance and a valet opens our doors. Phoebe jumps out, takes hold of my hand and pulls me to follow. I hold tight to to her as she leads us through the revolving door to make sure she doesn't get away from me and also to enjoy this moment where she's taking me along for this ride. Because one day closer than I want to imagine, I'll have to let her hand go.

"You lead the way, princess," I say as I relinquish my lead to her.

She's precious in her "New York outfit"—the one she thought up and I had made for her. Like Eloise's favorite designer, it had to be Dior. I called them up and sent over a copy of her sketch, signed by Miss Phoebe Grey herself. I'm keeping the original. It's too precious to hand away. In fact, I'm framing it. The outfit is an alpine white faux fur (she made triple sure no bunnies would be harmed) trimmed coat and matching hat, polkadot galoshes and a handbag in the shape of a white Persian cat studded entirely with the finest crystals. She's like snowflake or an angel or a something of the two. Or rather she's just Phoebe, which is something all the more.

"Do you know where Eloise is?" she asks a bellman we pass.

He must get this a lot, because he handles it like a pro. "She just walked her little dog, Weenie, and I think she's inside."

"Come on, Daddy! We gotta look!" She jumps up and down and then tugs me along. "Chester wants to meet Weenie!" And of course the rodent pops his head out of the fur of her coat. I thought he was in his cage! And when did she change him into his matching coat?

"I think Weenie would rather meet Chester." As a midnight snack.

"Mr. Grey, welcome," the woman behind the front desk says upon check-in. She works at her computer to complete our reservation. A song is playing overhead— _Stardust_. It makes me think of that first ball—that first real date with Ana.

I look to Ana, who's standing next to me, quieting the kids as they fuss and fidget. I flash back to after the ball and that first time we checked into a hotel together in the middle of all that madness. She was wearing my denim jacket and my sweats and an old t-shirt and she was stunning. I remember thinking to myself that I was the luckiest son-of-a-bitch alive. How did the likes of me get someone like her? And with everything that was going on, she hadn't run. She was by my side. She was mine. That was the moment I knew—even though I didn't know what the hell it all meant or how it could possibly work— I wanted to marry her.

"Will you be needing help with your bags, Mr. Grey?" the woman asks, stealing me back from memory.

"No, _Mrs. Grey_ and I can manage," I say and give Ana a wink.

"I'm glad I'm not " _Mrs. Taylor_ " this time," she smiles as she whispers to me.

"So am I." I touch her belly and give her a kiss.

"But, sir," Taylor says. "There are seventeen bags!"

Oh right—Jetway Jenga. I guess I got caught up in the romance of the moment. It happens a lot with Ana.

"Of course. Have someone give Taylor a hand," I say to the woman. "Mrs. Grey and I will be up in our room." I take my wife's hand as we head with our children, both born and yet-to-be, to the gilded elevators where we press for the top floor.

The Royal Suite doesn't disappoint. It's just under 5,000 square feet overlooking the park with a chef, a library that I've had specific books delivered for Ana to enjoy, a dining room, an entertainment theatre, and three luxurious bedroom suites. It's Louis XV decor will go over the children's heads, but just watching Ana take it in when she enters ensures me it doesn't go over hers. That's my favorite view—seeing everything by the light in her eyes.

"Oh Christian, this is unreal," she says.

I move behind her and wrap her in my arms.

"Do you like it?" I whisper in her ear before kissing it.

"I love it and I love you."

And I squeeze her tighter, my hands hoffing her belly.

"Daddy, Daddy," Phoebe says, running across the room to the window and looking out over the park. "We're on the tippy top floor. Just like Eloise!"

"Yes, we are."

"But, I didn't find her yet," Phoebe says.

"She's probably asleep, as well you should be. She'll be along tomorrow for the tea!"

"We're having tea with her?" she squeals.

"Yes, we are."

"I don't want to have tea with some silly girls!" Teddy says and Phoebe sticks out her tongue to which he reciprocates.

"Hey no fighting! You're not going, Teddy. Your mother and you are having a special outing. I'm taking Phoebe to the tea. And you and I will see the dinosaurs after that. And after we all do a little shopping, we'll celebrate the New Year."

"You're going to an Eloise tea alone?" Ana looks at me like I've grown two heads.

"Of course. My daughter and I shared the book over Christmas. I want to take her and buy her every souvenir imaginable," I whisper. "Plus, I'm sure it will be a distinguished affair. It's high tea with a bunch of little girls at the Plaza. It's not like we're at Kreative Kidz with all those mothers."

#######

 **SEVEN...**

It's like we're at Kreative Kidz with all those mothers. But, only if they got covered in a giant pop of bubblegum that got rained down on with pink feathers and rhinestones.

"And who might we have here?" a woman dressed as Nanny from the books says as we enter. I'm not sure if she's a member of the staff or a mental case who frequents these type of events. I assume staff, since she has a clip board to check us in. If she was mentally unstable she probably wouldn't have official paperwork. But, she's a little too into the role and I'm suddenly regretting sending Taylor with Ana and Teddy. A tea like this bodes far more risk than the streets of New York.

"Grey, Christian and Phoebe." I say.

"Ooooh," she squeals. "You're the man!" What the fuck does that mean?" She snaps her fingers and another woman in some pink frilly skirt and white apron escorts us to our table. I suddenly feel underdressed because I'm not in ruffles and bows, but I am wearing the polkadot tie Phoebe gave me. I've requested the best seat in the house and I'm afraid I got it—front and center.

I walk Phoebe to our seats and pull out her chair.

"Thank you, you a _rawther_ kind," she says, using the line in the book.

"You're _rawther_ welcome," I say, as she sits and I push in her chair.

As I sit down I can't help but feeling we're somewhat on display—or rather I am by simply having a penis and wearing polka dots and being here at all. There's whispering and pointing and the occasional smile. It's like all the women want a look at the mythical man who accompanies his daughter to an Eloise tea. It's disturbing on two fronts—one, that no father would attend and two, that these woman are ogling me. Oh fuck these people, I'm here for Phoebe.

I take in my candy-coated surroundings. I never remember the book being this pink. All the drawings were mostly black and white with some color splashed in. But that is the theme in here— pink striped walls and pink carpet and pink velvet upholstered seats. It's like all of a sudden I've become color blind, but instead of seeing no color, I only see one.

"Would you like some tea, princess?" I ask Phoebe.

"Yes, please," she says and I pour her some strawberry colored chamomile. She picks up the cup and lifts her pinky finger. "This is how you do it, Daddy."

"Of course," I say and pick up my own the same way.

There's really no rhyme or reason or order to this thing. A dozen or so girls run around their tea tables holding Eloise dolls and books and whatever else Eloise merchandise they can get their hands on. And their mothers—they're wearing as much or more of Eloise as their daughters. Frilly skirts and boas and hair bows. One grandmother is wearing the signature black school girl skirt with white knee-high socks and Mary Jane's. She's even carrying a stuffed pug doll and petting it like it's real, telling it how much she loves her Weenie. I've been in BDSM clubs that are less weird than this.

"Daddy, you need to wear a boa," she says picking up a pink feathered thing from the table and draping it around my neck.

"Is it my color?" I ask her, and she giggles and wraps herself in one as well.

"Daddy where's Eloise?" Phoebe asks.

"She'll be along." I, too am wondering why she's not here. Isn't she the main event? Why do we get Nanny without the kid?

A few mothers and daughters sit at our table. I'm next to Clara and her daughter Belle. Put their names together and they fittingly make a lipsticked cow. Belle is a rotten child. She scowles and complains about everything.

"Who wants cucumbers as sandwich meat?" she asks, as she takes apart a tea sandwich and licks the cream cheese off the bread.

"I've been divorced for three years now," Clara says to me as she drowns her sorrows in quiche after little spinach quiche.

"That's nice," I say, wondering if someone can spike some pink lemonade for me so I can get through listening to her shit.

"You know he'd never do to anything like this." And I'd never do anything like you. Leave me alone, woman! "He would just leave me alone to let all this waste away." She points to her body. Believe me, nothing has wasted away there. Every hunk a cheese she's ever eaten has found permanent residence.

"Yeah," is all I can say and I look away.

"I don't like fruit in my cake!" Belle yells out and tosses a strawberry on her plate. She's less like a bell and more like a clank.

A line of women comes over to talk to me. They're like fruit flies to a peeled banana. But trust me, no one's peeling my banana but Ana. I've heard more tales or heartache and cheating and divorce woe in one afternoon than in twenty-five episodes of Oprah. Since when did an Eloise tea become a therapy session with the one and only penis in the place? I can't figure out if they're trying to fuck me or just fuck with me. What do they expect me to do? Just because I come to a tea, doesn't mean I bring the fucking sympathy.

"Is Eloise coming?" Phoebe asks, after some woman in a tutu tried to get me to drink with her at the bar so she could further explain her dissatisfaction in the sack with an orthodontic assistant named Ace, who was not her husband, but rather her husband's accountant's upstairs neighbor who also played in a band. I just stuck a hunk of tea cake in my mouth and she finally walked away.

"I'll check," I say as the event is really winding down. I catch that Nanny passing by and stand to stop her.

"Where is Eloise?"

"Everywhere," she says motioning with her arms in grandiose fashion.

"No, I mean the actual girl. Where is she? When do we get to see her?" I realize a man in a boa and polkadots is asking this, but I don't fucking care.

She purses her lips and leans in like she has to break some bad news to me. "She's not really real, sir."

"Shhh!" I say. I don't want Phoebe to hear. I don't think she did. She's picking raisins out of a scone and lining then up on a saucer in the shape of a happy face. "I know this!" I whisper shout. "But, I thought you'd have an actress or something."

"We think every girl is Eloise in her own special way."

"That's nice, but my daughter wants to see her."

"Sorry." She walks away.

Fucking Nanny. I want to kick her in her horse's rear.

"Is she coming, Daddy?"

I look down to Phoebe, who has so much hope in her eyes.

"Uh, no..."

"Oh." She looks down and plays with her raisins. I hear a sniffle as she turns them into a frown.

I can't disappoint my daughter like this. Think, Grey!

"She's not coming here." I sit down beside her. "Because she doesn't want to play with these silly girls, she just wants to meet you."

"Me? Really?" The hope has returned to her face.

"Yes, so she's coming to our suite this evening."

"Yay, Daddy!" she leaps into my arms for a hug.

Oh fuck. What am I going to do?

As we get up to leave, I text Taylor: _Get ready to hold a casting call._

Broadway better not let my daughter down.

#######

 **SIX...**

"I like the pterodactyls, 'cause they can fly!" Teddy tells me as we walk by the bones of the past in the museum of Natural History. It's amazing these great beasts ever roamed and even more amazing that ones so big and fierce could fall. Who am I to talk? I was once a great, fierce beast who fell hard in an instant. But, great beasts are destined to die.

"You want to fly one day?" I ask, looking at the fossils as I hold his hand and guide him along. He's taken such an interest in dinosaurs lately. I like sharing this with him. Just he and I and a million years gone by.

"Yeah, I want to fly like you."

"Like I fly in Charlie Tango?"

He nods.

"When you're older I'll teach you." I ruffle his hair, planning to teach him so much more. His hair is like mine was at his age. All floppy with copper curls. His hair is like my mother's. It's the one thing we shared together—the crack whore and I. She'd let me brush it and braid it. She'd sing in those rare moments and she'd actually like me. Just touching his hair brings that feeling back. And it's not a bad feeling as I once feared. I loved her in those moments—as Ana's had me admit—and I love Teddy more than life itself. Somehow that love connects the lost and misplaced generations.

"I want to be a pilot!" he says.

"You'd be a great one!"

"You really think so?" He beams.

"I know so."

Though he may look like me, he's so much like Ana. I see it today as he studies these bones. He doesn't barrel though like a typical boy. He measures things and notices. When he scrunches his nose, I can tell he's trying to figure something out, but he doesn't want to ask. He wants to figure it out for himself.

"Daddy, why aren't there dinosaurs anymore?"

"Well, you should be glad there aren't. They'd stomp all over us."

"No, but why? They were so big and scary. How did they die?" And it's like he's asking me to tell him why the past had to go.

"Well, sometimes those big scary things have to go away so better things can take their place." And I realize I'm not just talking about the literal old bones of prehistoric monsters. I'm talking about my own.

"What could be better than the dinosaurs?" he asks.

I look into his big blue eyes.

"You and me here right now."

We walk by the bones of a dinosaur family—mother and father and two small ones. The child is hiding beneath the father's legs as he protects. Even in the land of beasts a father protects. So does a mother. Something neither of my birth parents ever did for me, but something Ana did for Teddy, even on that very first night she knew. I look to my son. I owe her for this moment. This child. This everything. It still amazes me that a twenty-two year old girl was strong enough to stand up to me; stand up for her child. Stand up for me, when my knees were buckling to bring me to the ground. She was strong enough to carry me to a place I was afraid to go.

"I hope I'm just like you when I grow up, Daddy!" he says as he looks up to me, his eyes sparkling with pride and peeking out from underneath the shadow of dinosaur bones.

I smile and hold him close.

No son, I hope you're just like your mother.

 ** _To be continued..._**


	8. Chapter 8

**_Here's the last part of New Years. Thanks for your patience. Onto Valentine's Day with this story. Any suggestions on the sexes of the twins?_**

 ** _And thank you for reading and reviewing my other stories, too! There will be updates there as well. Love you guys! xox_**

"Christian," Ana says, beaming and a bit stunned as I pull out her chair at the small table I've had set up, next to the picture window that overlooks the city, on the fifth floor of Tiffany & Co. Although winter blankets the streets below, the sun is shining and dancing in her hair on this early New Year's Eve morning. And I'm reminded of what I told her on our honeymoon when we stood in that spot in Versailles—that I'd build a palace just like that one, if only to see the way the light burnished her hair. "You're unreal! You've actually arranged breakfast at Tiffany's!"

She sits and I push in her chair.

"Did you expect anything less?" I whisper in her ear and kiss her head, then make my way to my own seat. "After all, we despots do these things for the women we love," I say, unfolding my napkin and spreading it across my lap.

She dips her head and smiles and I'm rewarded with her infectious giggle.

"It's one of my favorite old movies," she says and she looks around, wistful almost. "I used to pretend I was Audrey Hepburn when l was younger... How did you know?"

"Ana, I knew your bank account number after the first time we met, I have my ways." Although, I didn't have to consult Welch this time. Ray may have told a story or two. And I saw the way her eyes lit up when we passed the window yesterday.

She giggles again and mouths "stalker."

"I hope you like it," the crack in my voice betraying my confidence.

"I love it and I love you! You know you make my dreams come true."

"Back at you, Mrs. Grey." Though, I never had dreams at all until I met Ana. But, the moment I first saw her, my whole being knew she was the answer to something I'd been born to find.

The table is like those we dined on in France all those years ago—just two young kids who didn't know a thing about marriage or family, but believed deeply that against all betting odds love could somehow make it all work. And you know what—they were right.

There's a selection of pastries and jams; scones with clotted cream and lemon curd; white chocolate covered strawberries; and of course a bag of English Breakfast that she opens and dunks once into the hot water in her teacup before placing on the saucer.

"Foregone conclusion, huh?" She smiles, regarding the bag of Twinings.

"No, I'm just a hopeful sap." I laugh.

"When did you become that?"

"When I told Gail to buy a box of tea I never drink."

She smiles and reaches across the table to touch my fingers.

"I'm surprised you can rent out Tiffany's!" she says.

"You'd be surprised at what I can do."

"Well, I hope you'll show me the full extent of your abilities later," she smiles seductively and nibbles on her lip. Naughty minx.

"I intend to," I say, holding her hand. I bring it to my lips and she inhales sharply as I delicately suck each tip clean of jam and cream, and finish with a nip of her pinkie. "But, there will be time for that later. First, I have other plans."

I motion to the waitstaff and a gentleman comes over with a silver tray.

"What's this?" she asks.

I nod to the man and he lifts the tray top to reveal three trademark blue Tiffany boxes.

"Are these for me?"

"Of course they are." I have to laugh. Who would they be for—Chester? Although I promised Phoebe I'd get him and Boone sterling silver heart tags engraved with their names for them to wear on their macaroni necklaces she's made. "Start from left to right," I point and she picks up the first box and unwraps it.

"Baby rattles," she says, lifting two sterling silver rattles from the first box. I'm not sure our children will ever really hold them, but they're a keepsake. "They're so beautiful!"

"For the twins," I say, although I'm not sure why I felt the need to clarify that. I suppose with the other silver items I've given her in the past, one can't be too explanatory. "I thought we could engrave them with names and such later. But, I've had a little something written... " I point to the handles.

"Blip Three and Blip Four," she reads from each.

"Whoever's out first gets dibs on the three."

"That's precious, Christian." she holds to my hand. "Thank you!"

"No, thank you, Mrs. Grey." I smile. And though I will try every day of my life, I can never express to her how truly thankful I am. To know the depth of that kind of gratitude, you'd have to know the pain.

"You're a wonderful father," she says.

"You told me once you wouldn't let me be anything else." I stroke her fingers and she leans across the table to give me a kiss.

"No, you're a good father all on your own."

"I love them," I say, simply put. "I didn't know I could, until I loved you."

She smiles and a teardrop falls off her lashes and onto her cheek and I brush it away with my thumb. I know that I'll never be good enough for any of them, but I will give them all of me, always.

"Now then, you have two more boxes, I say.

She sniffles a bit and smiles as she reaches for the next one and opens it, revealing a silver key.

"What's this for?"

"The new spa at the house."

"What new spa at the house?"

"Well, I know with four children you'll need a place of respite, so while we're away I'm having a room added on. It'll have a reading nook with a selection of your tea and music you like; a steam room; a yoga/meditation area; a massage set-up where a female masseuse can rub you down whenever you like..."

"Female, huh?" She giggles.

"I'm not letting a man get his hands all over my hot wife in a private room."

"Even a professional?"

"Yeah, one look at you coming out of that steam and he'll be a professional at something else."

She gets up and makes her way to my lap—she's much heavier now and I like it—and she leans over to give me a kiss.

"What's that for?"

"You are so sweet."

"It's not sweet, it's just what I do."

"Well I think you and what you do are incredibly sweet." She nibbles at my ear.

"So you're biting me?"

"I'm trying to taste your sweetness." She nips.

"Behave, Anastasia," I say, teasingly and she giggles against at my cheek. "You still have one more box before any other packages are unwrapped." I shoot an eyebrow up. "And this last one's the biggest."

"I'm sure not bigger than the one I want to unwrap." She wiggles her bottom against me and I'm immediately hard.

"Just open it," I say.

She leans over to lift the box top off the biggest, grandest one of all and finds absolutely nothing inside.

"It's empty," she says, at a loss.

"That's because I want you to fill it yourself."

"With what?" She looks around nervously at the waitstaff that are appropriately waiting for us at the wall. "Is this some kind of sex game?" she whispers, so they can't hear.

"No! You think I'm going to play sex games in front of these guys?" I roll my eyes. Honestly, she should know I'd never let anyone watch. I'll save all the games for when we're alone tonight. "We're in Tiffany. I want you to look around and find your heart's desire here." I motion my hands toward the aisles. "Anything you want, it's yours."

"Anything?"

"Anything."

"I'll need to be careful in here. I could end up spending all your money."

"I hardly think that's possible and for the millionth time—our money." I give her a kiss on her nose.

I move us to standing and holding to her hand, I lead us through the aisles of precious gems.

"I feel like I'm cheating on Cartier," she laughs and she's almost skipping taking in all precious stones and ornate designs. There's a crown of sapphires and diamonds that would turn a Queen green with envy, that I'm tempted to buy her, but Ana's so humble, she'd never wear a crown around town.

"Well, what happens in New York..." I say.

"That's Vegas!" She laughs.

"Trust me, Cartier won't be crying after all I paid them at Christmas."

We walk through the entire store—all five floors—marveling at diamonds and emeralds and rubies as Ana gasps "oh my's." And though she's awed by the opulent jewel and precious metal creations, she's made no selection.

"Have you found anything yet?" I ask, as she looks through a small case at the far corner on the first floor. The kind they set up for the tourists with the more affordable items.

"Yes, I've found exactly what I want."

"Over there?" I walk over to see and she points to an alphabetic array of cursive style silver letters.

"Ana, there's a case full of emeralds over there. A ring worth more than some small countries and a bracelet to match. These are just little silver letters. Pick something more extravagant."

"But, this is what I want—an A and a C and a T and a P," she says. "They're my very favorite. I want them on a chain all together to wear around my neck and close to my heart. And later we can add two more, once we know their names." She moves a hand to her belly and strokes it.

I smile. That's my Ana. The same girl who fought me when I tried to give her a car; who said "yes" to me without a ring; and the same girl who found value in me when I believed I was worthless.

I give her a kiss and then make sure her gift is just as she likes. And though Ana is most happy with her simple silver letters on a simple silver chain, I make sure to tell the gentleman helping us, quietly, to wrap up the emeralds as well.

"Wait, there's one more thing," I say and pull her into my arms before we leave to start the last day before the first day of the year.

"What?" she asks looking up at me with the bluest eyes I've ever seen.

I nod to the gentleman and over the sound system, the music starts—Moon River.

"May I have this dance?" I ask.

"And every other one," she says.

She steps in my arms and starts to tear up.

"Why are you crying?" I ask.

"Because I used to dream of this, too."

She dips her head to my neck and rests her head on my shoulder as I hold her close and we move together amidst the diamonds. Though, I'm not looking at the stones beneath the glass. I'm watching the way the light burnishes her hair.

#######

" _There's no business like show business..."_

Farrah O'Shay-Bernstein sings from _Annie Get Your Gun_ at the top of her lungs, making me want to get my own and turn it on myself, as Taylor and I watch her from our seats in the conference room at the Plaza. No, she's not married—she's six and she has a "consciously coupling" set of parents, whatever the fuck that means. Isn't that accurate for one night shack-ups as long as everyone's awake? I've endured act after tiresome act, sitting here watching these "professional children" belt out their Broadway best—or rather their off-off-off-Broadway loudest—to be cast as Phoebe's Eloise. But, Farrah O'Shay-Bernstein I loathe the most.

"You don't have to sing," I say to Farrah as I've said to every one of them, but they all fucking insist on singing something, ranging from some _Good Ship Lollipop_ nonsense where the kid nearly fell off the stage because of poor hoop-skirt to child ratio on the twirls; to _Fame_ , where " _I'm Gonna Live Forever"_ sounded like a threat; to something completely inappropriate by Shakira that was accompanied by a bead-shaking salsa dance that her idiot mother was encouraging her to do—with her. And believe me, it looked more like the bowl of dip you stick a chip into than the dance.

It leaves me to wonder—How the fuck is any of this Eloise?!

"The role doesn't require musicality," I say.

Farrah scrunches her nose and the pancake make-up she's wearing cracks, and oddly she looks exactly like her mother, Rosemary, who's sitting in the front row and keeps motioning with her hands for Farrah to fluff her hair. Jesus, any more fluff they'll dye it pink, swirl it on a stick and sell it at the carnival.

"But, it really showcases my entire jewel case of talents," Farrah O'Shay-Bernstein says, all snarky and pursing her lips like she just sucked a lemon. Yes, now I know who she reminds me of—Kavanagh.

"I don't care if the rubies in your case are stuck to slippers straight from Oz, there's no singing tonight!"

"As an artist, I feel I should be—"

"You're six! Just be six!"

"Mr. Grey," Taylor says, I'm sure in an effort to cool me down. This has to be the fucking weirdest thing we've ever done, including the time he had to help me untie Dawn from the ceiling of the playroom. "Maybe she should just act out some lines from the book, sir."

"Right, good idea. Some lines from the book."

"Which book?" she asks as she starts to tap dance. Why the fuck is she tap dancing?

"The Christmas one!" I say. "That's what we're auditioning for and we don't need the tapping, either!"

"But, Christmas is over," she says, continuing to tap. The clicking of those shoes against the wood floor is driving me mad. If someone wished me straight to hell, they'd just have to send Farah O'Shay-Bernstein to dance on my grave.

I've had it.

"So is this audition. Thank you, Miss—"

"It's Ms.," she says. "I don't want to be immediately personified by my marital status."

I just look at her for a moment.

"You're six!"

"You'll be sorry when you see her in the _Gypsy_ revival," her mother says, pulling her off the stage. It's appropriate her name is Rosemary, since her child is the spawn of Satan.

"You're right; I'll make sure I miss it to avoid the suffering."

She huffs off with her daughter, but I can still smell the Aqua Net hairspray left in their wake.

I look over to Taylor, "How many more are there?" I don't know if I can survive much longer.

"About sixteen, sir."

"Sixteen? But we've already seen like ninty-four of them!"

"Just seven, sir."

"Well, it sure feels like it."

I peek out into the hallway to have a count and he's right—six-fucking-teen of them, all primping and practicing. The bevy of little blonde girls see me and immediately sit up in their seats and plaster on fake smiles— so do their mothers. It's like _Stepford Wives: Tall and Small._

"What's your name?" I ask the next girl who takes the stage. At least this one isn't in tap shoes.

"I'm a star," she says.

Oh god—actors.

"No, I don't think you heard me. Your name."

She nods.

"Why are you nodding?"

"'Cause I'm a star," she says, though not with arrogance, more informational.

"Okay, I just want your name. I don't need your rank on ."

"That's my name—AStar. It's spelled all together and the A and the S are big and the "tar" is little."

You're fucking kidding me.

"And I take it you don't have a last name."

"Well...," she hems and haws like it's some big fucking secret to tell me. "I do, but my team feels that it's a better career move to leave it off. I don't wanna be just another singing girl— I wanna be like Beyoncé.

And I thought the kids at the school were crazy.

She starts in with some "rawthers" and tippy-tops" and all the other language the child of the book uses, but she sounds less like Eloise and more like the Queen of England if she was caught drunk dialing Charles.

"This child is terrible as Eloise," I whisper to Taylor. "Why can't we get someone who played Annie?"

"They've all played Annie, sir."

True; I guess that's like a right of passage for Broadway Girls.

I call the next one in and see an older woman in the complete Eloise ensemble take the stage. Hey, I think it's that Granny from the tea! She's petting her Weenie dog again.

"What are you doing?" I ask her.

"Auditioning for Eloise," she says. Oh my god, this woman is a mental case.

"Eloise is a child," I say, slowly, so she won't pull something out of her Weenie and kill us.

"I was too, in 1955." Well , at least she knows it's not 1955...

"What's your point?"

"The advertisement said we need Eloise today. Today she'd be a senior citizen."

I look at the flyer and then show it to Taylor. "You forgot the comma between Eloise and today!"

"Sorry, sir."

Improper punctuation can get you in trouble.

Finally, after all the nonsense, we find a girl named Tiffani Gary—she has two first names, but at least it's progress—who looks the part, can remember her lines and doesn't sing. Her mother agrees to have her at the hotel by six, Phoebe and she will meet, have a quick tea in the Eloise room, exchange a few words and all will be right with the world and she'll be on her way.

Now, I've got to get out of here—first, to get my sanity back and second, I've promised my family a tour of the city.

#######

"Daddy, it's the biggest tree I ever sawed!" Phoebe says, as she sits on my shoulders looking up at the Christmas tree at Rockefeller Center. She keeps kicking her pink fuzzy boots against my chest. I notice one of them is slipping off, so I secure it back on. And I marvel that that's the first thing I noticed and not that she was kicking my chest.

"It's so beautiful," Ana says as she looks up and I can see the lights reflecting in her eyes.

"It is, isn't it?" I say, not taking my eyes off hers. I'm awed myself. I've been in this city around the holidays so many times in the years before Ana and I've seen the tree, but I never stopped to really look at it before.

"I wanna climb it!" Teddy says and starts to run, but Ana's takes his hand and pulls him back.

"No, you can't take off in the city like that, Ana says, and he whines, though one day I know he'll remember how much his mother cared. Or better yet, maybe he won't really think about it at all. Because he won't ever know that it's possible for a mother not to love her child.

A thought crosses my mind as I watch her holding to him—my birth mother never held my hand. Not when I crossed a street, not when I was scared, not even when I tried to hold hers. And because of it, I guess in some subconscious way, I've never felt anyone wanted me to stay.

And as though she knows my unspoken thoughts, I feel the brush of fingers against my own as Ana's hand holds to mine. And she reminds me, as she does time and time again when my thoughts try to run off to those deep dark places, that she's not going to let me go.

She wants me to stay.

#######

"Is it well maintained?" I ask a man in a patchwork wool coat and beanie that would probably cover his eyes would it not be for his prehistoric brow holding it up. He's standing in the gutter with one foot up on the curb and chewing on something between his teeth that I hope is gum, but fear is not. This isn't the kind of man I would trust to sweep a flue properly; how can I trust him with my family's lives? This was not on the agenda for today; how could Ana and the kids spring this idea on me? I don't think I can handle a Central Park carriage ride.

"Is what maintained?" he says with grit. "The horse?" He motions to a white horse that is currently shitting half it's body weight on the pavement of Central Park South. "Yeah, she's good. Once she finishes her deal."

The horse nays.

"Eww, Daddy the horse poops like bigger than my head!" Teddy yells out, amazed.

"And it stinkies like if corns farted," Phoebe adds to this commentary on New York City horse shit.

"Stop watching him do that!" I say to them and Ana pulls them back. Why are children so fascinated with shitting?

"Not the horse!" I say to the wise ass. Although I'm tempted to ask him for evidence of her temperament. If she frightens easily and if she's ever kicked anyone in the face or reared up in traffic. "The carriage. Is it up to standard?"

"It's the new deluxe model with heated seats and run by solar power."

"Really?"

He laughs. "Of course not really! It's got wheels and it moves. Are you getting in to have the New York experience or not?"

"Daddy, let's ride the cutest horsey!" Phoebe says. She's carrying more sacks from Saks than an upper east side widow after a sale. Of course, all of her purchases from today's shopping extravaganza—including her new hot pink Chanel quilted mini bag limited edition—are being messengered over, but she insisted on carrying all those empty bags. When I asked her why she said she wanted to look like a real New York lady shopper.

"Yeah Dad, please!" Teddy says. "I bet the wheels splash mud!" Him and the dirt.

"Ana," I say softly to her so the kids won't hear. "This could be very dangerous. What if the horse sees a rat or something, flies out into traffic and we all get hit by a bus?"

"And that's what I married you for—your optimism."

"Ana, danger smells optimism and that's when it attacks."

She rolls her eyes, of course.

"Come on, it'll be fun."

I look down to these big, pleading eyes looking up at me.

"Fine, let's go!" I say, and everyone cheers. You'd think they'd have been this excited when I bought them the new Burberry spring collection, not yet available to the public. "But hands and arms inside the vehicle at all times! This thing goes faster than anyone would expect."

#######

Faster than anyone would expect if anyone was a turtle sitting in his shell waiting for a parade to pass when the parade is still a day away.

"Why aren't we moving?" I ask, as we remain in a standstill on Central Park South.

"It's New York," he says, brushing me off. How did this guy ever get this job anyway? Is there a school for this sort of thing? Do you have to take a state test and get a license? Or do you just fall into it because you have a horse in the family, so why the fuck not. Why am I asking myself these stupid questions? I think to distract my brain from attempting to explode itself.

"I thought horsies did races Daddy?" Phoebe asks.

"They do when they aren't getting paid by the half-hour." I lean up to the guy. "Isn't there a faster route?"

"We're close. The park is right in front of us. It's like a two minute walk."

"Good idea, we'll get out and walk."

"Christian," Ana says, with a look that says cut it with the tomfoolery. But, if there was any fool bigger than Tom right now it would be me at the back end of this ass who's driving this horse and buggy show.

"Hey watch it you fat fuck!" somebody yells out to our driver and he makes a motion under his chin for them to fuck off. What the hell? I hope the kids didn't catch any of that.

Two horns honk at us as he tries to slip past them on the right.

"I don't think this is a wide enough opening for the carriage," I say.

"Oh yeah, since when did you go to carriage school?"

So there is a school... And I marvel that he does indeed make it through.

Another car starts honking. I'm not sure quite why, she's free and clear next to us. I think she just wants to feel a part of the collective rage of the road.

The horse bucks a little. Oh shit, is this crazy woman making the horse nervous? What if she takes off and slams into the car ahead? Or we flip over into traffic? So much can happen and we aren't even hardly moving yet.

"Stop honking!" I yell over at the lady. She has the nerve to flip me off. And not a quick flip. A big juicy one with aggressive wrist movement that continues on and on.

"What is she doing Daddy?" Phoebe asks.

"Uh, she's waving."

"With her middle finger up?" Teddy asks.

"Yes. It's a New York wave."

"Like the Cub Scouts salute?"

"Yeah, she's saluting something."

"I wanna wave like that!" Teddy says and starts to form his fingers.

"Yay, we say _hi_ to all of the New York peoples!" Phoebe does the same.

And before I know it my kids are flipping off traffic.

"No, you don't!" Ana says, pulling their arms down. "Only grownups can wave like that."

"Get that motherfucking horse out of the way!" the lady yells at the driver. Oh my god, this language.

"That's what your husband's side chick said when he brought her home last night!" The carriage driver says.

"What are those Dad?" Teddy asks, and I'm fearful he wants me to explain the concept of "side chicks," but to my relief he's pointing to a vendor on the street.

"Roasted chestnuts," I murmur, watching to make sure this crazy woman doesn't get out of her car and charge us.

"Roasted Chesters?!" Phoebe shrieks.

"Chestnuts!" I say.

"Chester's nuts," Teddy laughs and Phoebe punches his arms.

"Kids, get along!" I say. Geez, the road rage is contagious.

Finally we break free of traffic and go. This is exactly what I was afraid of.

"Yay!" the kids scream as we pick up speed, flying over a pothole and landing with a bounce. The kids giggle, absolutely loving it, holding their hands up like it's a roller coaster. Even Ana is joining in. Everyone's having a rip roaring time, but me. And I'm quickly discovering I have a slight case of carriage ride sickness. I didn't even know that was a thing.

"This is fun!" Teddy says.

"Let's go faster!" Phoebe yells out.

"No, let's not go faster!" I yell out, my stomach rolling.

We enter the park and the horse really starts to gallop. It's like she's been so pent up in that traffic, now she's going to run like the wind.

"Want me to do a a double drop?" The guy asks the kids.

"Yay!" the kids say.

"No!" I say. "This is supposed to be a tour of the park, not Six Flags!"

And of course he does it—going over two small hills on the path without slowing down.

"What are you crazy?"

"Hey, how'd you know my middle name?" He laughs. My family's safety is a fucking joke to him!

"Hold on kids!" he says and suddenly he makes a turn, and we all slide around in our seats.

"This is the funnest ever!" Phoebe squeals.

"Get ready, this is the best one!" The driver yells out.

"Yay! The best one!" the kids scream and Ana laughs.

"No, don't do the best one!" The best one can never be good!

And just then he does the best one—a triple hill sprint with a bounce, bounce, bounce and by the end I'm left splattered by the puddle he barreled through— that I think he purposely went through because it was on my side— and my lunch is sitting in my throat.

"Sorry about that, man. I think it's mostly mud," he says.

"It did splash mud!" Teddy says, all excited.

"Wonderful," I say.

Finally he slows down a bit so we can enjoy the park and I can wipe myself down with a communal towel he provides. I wonder what communal clean-ups this rag has taken care of before me... I think it's better I don't know. Hopefully I don't end up with a souvenir staph infection.

"Daddy look at the skaters!" Phoebe says, pointing to the ice rink as we pass.

"Dad, I wanna go ice skating!" Teddy says.

"Yeah," Phoebe says! "We gotta try out our lessons."

Oh, yes; their lessons on the holiday ice rink at our house with that Russian Olympian—Ludmila. I think her closest relative was the missing link and he got all the looks and she got all the body hair. She was a great teacher, but she creeped me out. She shook my hand like she was about to take me down and kept trying to give me free moonlight lessons. I think she wanted it to be romantic or something. Trust me, seeing Ludmila outside in the moonlight wouldn't make me think Valentine's Day; it'd make me scream Halloween.

"I don't know, you two. It's awfully crowded." I look to Ana. "And your mother can't go because she's carrying the babies."

"You should take them, Christian, Ana says.

"And leave you alone?" Taylor and Gail are off for a romantic outing, although he probably just took her to look for auto parts. He likes to wear a wife beater and flex his muscles for her when he shops for things to rev up his engines.

"Do you really believe that I believe I'm really alone?"

She's right—there are three plain clothed security men following us as we speak.

"I still don't know—"

"Please, Daddy!" the kids say, jumping up and down in their seats.

"But, I haven't been in years; I'm not sure I'll remember."

"It's like riding a bike," Ana says.

#######

Riding a bike?—yes, if you ride the bike down a frozen driveway, into a rush of unlicensed drivers, and through three lanes of traffic that is mostly going the wrong way. Jesus, there are so many arms flailing out here and people falling and sliding about, I feel like I'm about to have a panic attack. When did the bus let out with tourists who've only ever known sport in weather north of eighty degrees?

"Daddy, how long do we have to hold to the rails?" Teddy asks as we inch along, hugging the wall.

"Until we get our footing," I say.

"But, I got my footing, Daddy."

"Yeah," Phoebe adds. "My footings keep slipping around 'cause we're going so slow."

"Alright, you can let go, but stay close to me."

Of course when freedom rings, they answer it's call. They let go and skate out in front, which forces me to skate ahead and I suddenly come to realize that next to dating, driving and social media, ice skating is a father's worst nightmare.

"Watch out!" I call out as they skate, laughing and going around like it's a walk through the park, rather than—strangely—a skate through one.

Some idiot teenage boy whizzes past me in a t-shirt with a big pot leaf on the front and long pony tail. Why the fuck is he wearing a t-shirt in thirty degree weather? And is he advertising that he's currently high or that he's going to be high once he's finished terrorizing people on the ice? Maybe he's just here to show off to his friends that he's too cool to be cold? Why the hell would freezing your arms impress anyone? Teenagers...

Phoebe's showing Teddy some twirl ahead and as skaters whiz past my heart nearly stops. It makes me get a glimpse into the future when they're out in the world on their own. I'll be that father skating behind them in the ice rink of life, watching for dangers and pitfalls for the rest of my existence.

"Phoebe!" I call out, but she keeps doing her twirls. Ana's waving at her and clapping from the sidelines. Why is she encouraging this dangerous behavior?

"I don't know what I'm doing," I hear some woman yell. I turn to look and the next thing I know she's grabbing my arm. "I'm going to fall." She's holding onto me, slipping and sliding around, trying to pull herself up while pulling me down.

"What the hell are you doing?"

"I've never skated before."

She's now wrapped her arms entirely around me as she keeps slipping and sliding up and down my body. It's obscene. Who does this to a stranger?

"Then, why are you on the ice?" I ask.

"I'm on vacation," she says, like that's a reason.

"Get off of me, I need to get to my kids," I try pull myself from her, but she keeps holding on. She's like a horse when it's born, but unlike Flicka, she's not finding her legs.

I see a guy struggling near the wall and pull her over to him.

"He doesn't know what he's doing either, stick with him," I say, pushing her into him. He smiles at her and she at him. I think I unwittingly just made a love connection.

Phoebe is now doing a whole routine for Ana and a small crowd that's gathered around, clapping and cheering her on. Although they look like happy parents, I'm sure there's a pervert or two lurking. Perverts always hang around rink situations.

Where the hell is Teddy?!

I look around and after a minute where my heart has stopped, I see him skating in the center, racing back and forth, pretending he's a hockey player.

"Teddy, stop that!" I call out, skating back over to him. "You're going too fast!"

He's not listening, of course. I skate over and grab his hand.

"But, I was having fun."

"Well, the fun you're having is too dangerous. You can have fun by the wall."

"Look at this one, Mommy!" I hear Phoebe say.

I look over and Phoebe's trying trick after dangerous trick. Some might not think figure eights are risky, but they don't realize how many people trip and break their necks because of overlapping blades.

I pull Teddy along to get to Phoebe. We've almost reached her, when a young mullet wearing couple cuts in front of us, holding hands, and I can't get through or see anything at all. This guy is humongous. He's wearing a sweatshirt and the back reads—Perfect Saturday Night: Beer; Woman; Shotgun with checked boxes beside each option.

"Excuse me," I say to them, but they continue to skate, so I say it again.

"Wait your turn, man," he says

"We need through."

"Tough."

Though I want to knock his block off, I don't know if I should argue with a man notifying me of his enthusiasm over his shotgun, his woman and his simultaneous intoxication on the back of his hoodie.

Suddenly that teenager whizzes by. I guess he startles Mullet Man because he lets go of Mullet Woman's hand and creates an opening for Teddy and I to fit though, so we go.

Phoebe's about to do a twirl and a hop in the air—I know it because she's shown me at home eighty-seven times—when I see that teenager is about to fly right into her!

"Phoebe!" I yell out, but she doesn't hear me. And without regard for myself, I let go of Teddy's hand just before we reach them, and just as he's about to skate into my daughter, I grab his shoulder to pull him away, but my blade catches on his and we both fall onto the ice, sliding through skaters who topple all around us and we end up crashing into the far side wall.

See, I knew those blade catching accidents could be deadly.

"What the hell are you doing, man?" the kid asks. I look around and discover I may have misjudged how close to hitting into my daughter he actually was. "Why are you so crazy?"

"I don't know, I'm a dad," I shrug and fall back on the ice.

#######

"Let's go check on that thing," I say to Taylor as Ana, the kids and I enter the suite after that harrowing afternoon.

"What thing, sir?"

"The thing." Is he really this dense? Maybe too much lovin' today with Gail. And I notice the bag on the table is from the auto parts store.

"Thing one or thing two, Daddy?" Teddy asks.

"One thing, not Thing One." They love that Dr. Seuss book.

"But, then if you got one thing, but not Thing One, don't you got nothing?" He scrunches his nose.

"Yeah and Thing Two would feel the saddest 'cause no one looked for him," Phoebe adds.

My kids have left me, fittingly, without a thing to say.

"I give Ana a kiss and whisper, "Bring her down at half past the hour." And she nods.

Taylor and I make our way downstairs to the lobby where we're supposed to meet Tiffani and her mother.

"Where are they?" I ask, looking around and seeing no blonde child in sight.

"It's still five 'till the hour, sir."

I look at my watch; true, it is.

"What the fuck kind of sick ass pervert are you?" A man's voice yells out and I turn around to see a balding guy in a Knicks sweatshirt angrily heading my way. And fuck, from the sound of it, he really knows me.

The guy tries to lunge for me, but Taylor's too quick and holds him back. People around gasp and move away.

"You try to use my daughter to live out your sick, twisted fantasies?" He bucks, but Taylor holds him, firm.

Holy shit. Is this man an ex sub's father who just found out about us all these years later? No, he only looks forty.

"I think you've been mistaken."

"The only mistake I made was speaking before I made sure you couldn't walk." He struggles against Taylor. "You may have fooled my wife, but I'll fucking kill you first."

"Your wife? I don't know your wife!"

"What the problem?" a hotel security guy asks as he walks over.

"This man is insane!" I say.

"He's trying to attack Mr. Grey," Taylor says.

"Who is this guy to you?" Security asks me about Taylor.

"He's my..." I'm at a loss for his title. "Everything."

"This fucker tried to prostitute my daughter." Okay, now I know he's just crazy.

"This man is obviously having a delusional episode."

"Me?! I'm not the one who tried to pay a six-year-old girl to come up to your hotel room and play Eloise for you!"

Oh fuck. The room falls silent.

"Listen, uh, I can explain that."

"So you admit it's true?" he asks.

"No, It's not what you're thinking. It's innocent."

"Oh yeah? Then why did you have my wife sign an Non Disclosure Agreement? And everyone else you auditioned here today?"

Oh double fuck.

"It's just something I do for everyone I meet," I say, but I realize this isn't helping my case.

"So you do this all the time?!"

"No, I don't always do Eloise!" That came out wrong. "I mean, I don't hold auditions." Still not right. "Help me out, Taylor.

"Mr. Grey is an important man who want to keep his private life secret."

"That didn't help me, Taylor!" I shake my head.

"You auditioned people here today?" the security guy asks.

"Dozens of six-year-old girls!" the father adds.

The crowd around is whispering in horror. This is definitely making Page Six.

"It's not for me, it's for my daughter. She wanted to meet Eloise, so I auditioned girls that could play her."

"Oh yeah, where's your daughter?" the guy asks. "All I see is you two sick fucking perverts waiting for mine." His face reddens and his fists clench. "Well, I'll kill you first!"

And suddenly he bursts free from Taylor, there's a fist in my face, and I fall to the floor.

#######

"Well, at least they believe you, sir." Taylor says, holding an ice pack to my eye as we sit on the couches in the lobby. I was able to prove my innocence by showing the script and a sample of the auditions we recorded, and pictures of Phoebe hugging her Eloise doll, so they let us go. Even the father apologized, but he still wouldn't let his daughter play the role. Not so much that he didn't trust me anymore, but because he thought it might fuck up her status with the actor's union. I've also been forbidden for holding auditions in this hotel ever again.

"Yeah, but how the hell does that help me now?" I ask.

"Well, you won't go to jail, or stand trial, or be exposed to the media as a disgusting pedophile, sir."

"But, I don't have Eloise for Phoebe." I hate disappointing her. I wonder if Farrah O'Shay-Bernstein is available on the quick. Now, I know I've hit rock bottom.

"Daddy!" I hear Phoebe's voice and turn to see her and Ana coming this way. Oh no, we forgot to tell them to wait.

"Hey, princess!" I say as she runs up and into my arms.

"What happened to you?" Ana asks, seeing my eye.

"I had an accident with the thing I was trying to find."

"Are you hurted, Daddy?" Phoebe asks and touches my eye.

"No, I'll be okay." I'm only hurt by what I have to tell her. "Sweetheart, you know how I said Eloise was coming over tonight?"

She nods with wide, excited eyes that are breaking my heart.

"Well,..." I take a deep breath."Eloise isn't..." I can't bring myself to say it. "Eloise isn't..."

"It's New Year's Eve!" a voice says in the distance. It's sweet and childlike and a bit odd. It almost sounds like—"

"Eloise!" Phoebe says and runs out of my hold, past me and toward the voice.

"Phoebe, stop!" I say, but when I turn around I immediately quiet. I can't believe my eyes—there's a child dressed head-to-toe like the child from the books. She's the spitting image.

"Yes, I'm Eloise, who are you?" the child says.

"I'm Phoebe."

"Will you be my very best friend in all of the world?" This kid is the best actress I've seen all date! But, she's not an actress. Who the hell is she?

"Yes!" Phoebe giggles and looks back at me. "Daddy, it's really her!"

I nod, completely baffled and bewildered and happier than I could ever imagine. As they talk and laugh and giggle, I don't know what to make of any of it, except it's a miracle.

"Christian, did you do this?" Ana asks, taking my arm as we watch our daughter playing.

"For once, no."

"Oh, I'm sorry my daughter is bothering yours," a woman says, approaching Ana and me. "She loves pretending to be Eloise and this was her Christmas gift— a week at the Plaza. And, I think she's a bit carried away, because your daughter is the first child to really play along with her make believe. I am truly sorry—"

"Sorry, are you kidding me?" I ask. "I owe your daughter a college education!" And I intend to make good on that.

And as I watch my daughter playing happily with her new friend, I'm struck by what luck it was for her to walk through that door at that very moment, at the absolute perfect time. And then I look to Ana and recall her walking through my office and how she took me by surprise. And it makes me think that none of it was luck at all. Luck is careless, and unplanned, and may or may not happen at all. Luck is simply a flip of the coin. Fate is the thing that opens doors.

#######

"Oh good, I get to be alone with you now," Ana says as I join her in the back of our limousine and the driver starts to take off.

We've just left the children with Taylor and Gail, so Mommy and Daddy can have have some alone time to ring in the new year. It seems Ana doesn't want to wait until midnight, because she's already halfway in my lap, nibbling on my ear and loosening the black bow tie of my tuxedo before we even reach the street.

"There will be time for that later," I say, as I pull back. Though I'm tempted to take her green satin gown off and fuck her right here on the corner of Fifth Avenue, I refrain. I want to get her to our New Year's Eve destination first.

"Where are we going?" she asks, noticing we're not heading for the apartment, I'm sure.

"It's a surprise." I pull out a black satin sash from my pocket and I cover her eyes with it, securing it in a knot behind her head.

#######

"Christian, where are we?" Ana asks, as we exit the elevator one hundred and two floors up and I remove her blindfold. "Oh my word! Are we—"

"The Empire State Building," I say. "Top floor."

She gasps as she takes everything in. Our wedding roses that bear her name surround in abundance, along with gold and silver balloons and candelabras lit with flame. I've even brought in a bed with red satin sheets and a goose down duvet, so we can make love and watch the skyline as the sun rises on New Year's morning.

"Happy New Year, Mrs. Grey," I pull her back against me and kiss her hair. She's wearing the emeralds I bought her today from Tiffany, and of course the silver chain with her and my four favorite letters.

"Are we the only ones up here?

"Of course." Does she think I'd do a group-on or something? "We began the day at Tiffany's and we'll end it on top of the world."

"Oh Christian, it's breathtaking."

"Like you."

I lean in and kiss her. She smells divine. Whatever perfume she's wearing just accentuates my favorite smell in the world which is Ana.

I pull back and move to the wine bucket where I have the finest sparkling grape juice on ice.

"It's a good month," I say, pulling out the bottle and she laughs as I mimic a pop, opening it, and pouring it into crystal flutes.

"I'd like to propose a toast," I say, holding up my glass as I hand her hers. "To more..."

We clink and smile and sip.

"You propose the same toast every year."

"Because it's all that I could ever want—more, with you." I brush my fingers along her belly. "And this year there will be a whole lot more.

I kiss her again, and she holds to my hands, and the electricity between us is palpable. And it amazes me it still is, even after all this time. They say after seven years you get an itch. Well, the only itch I want to scratch is with her. If it's possible, sex with her is even better than when we were first together. And that was the fucking hottest sex I had ever known. That's the thing about more, it goes beyond the limits you've set to imagine.

She pulls back and turns in my arms—her back to my front—nestling into me, and I hold to her as we look out on the New York skyline.

"I would like to make a resolution for the new year," I say.

"You would?"

"Yes." I start to nibble on her ear, then brush her hair to the side as I move my lips down her neck.

"Is this your resolution—to undress me?" she asks as I start to unzip her gown and slide it from her frame.

"My resolution is this," I say kissing her shoulders. "No matter how busy we are with the kids, or our work or anything else..." I bring my mouth to her ear. "I'm always going to make sure you are properly fucked."

She smiles. "That's my resolution, too." And she moans as I suck on her lobe.

The dress pooling at her ankles, I help her step out of it and turn her around to have a look. God, she's beautiful. Her black lace bra and panties with the stockings is the fucking end of me. And the swell at her middle is glorious. She's always stunning, but there's a special kind of lovely that happens when our babies grow inside of her.

"What are you looking at?" she asks, I think a bit embarrassed. Honestly Ana, after all this time?

"You," I say, bringing a finger to my lip and not taking my eyes off of her.

"Why are you smiling?"

"Because I'm looking the hottest woman I've ever laid eyes on and she's actually mine."

"Yes, yours. Always."

"I know." And it amazes me, all of it, but mostly that I finally allow myself to truly believe she is mine. And not mine in the way you take hold of a possession. Mine in the way that breath envelops you when you take it into your lungs. You don't just want for it; you need for it, to live.

I set down our glasses, then remove my jacket and loosen my tie, discarding them to the floor. Dropping to my knees, I kiss my way up her calves, her thighs and run my tongue alone the lace top of her stockings.

"It's almost midnight," I say, unhooking her garters from the lace of her right thigh. "I don't want to use the clock to bring in the new year." I begin to unhook them from her left leg now. "I want you to be the countdown, Mrs. Grey."

She smiles.

"Ten," I say, moving my way up her body and removing her garter belt.

"Nine," I say, bringing my mouth to her chest, using my tongue along the line of her bra. I move my hands around her back and I unclasp it, pulling it forward and off her body until it hits the floor.

"Eight," I say, taking her right nipple into my mouth and pinching and teasing the left with my fingers. She shakes a little and groans and I know it's driving her wild.

"Seven," I say, pushing my thumbs into the band of her panties and moving myself down her body as I slide them off her ass, her thighs, and to her ankles. She lifts the stiletto heels of her Louboutins and kicks them away.

"Six," I say. She's gloriously naked in front of me. I move my mouth up her body, until I reach her sex, where I part her with my tongue and taste her. She twists her fingers in my hair and pulls and I think she's about to come.

"Five," she says, surprising me as she takes hold of my face and pulls me up to her. She grabs my collar and unbuttons my shirt, forcing it off my shoulders and to the ground.

"Four," I say kneading her breasts as I kiss and bite her neck. This countdown has turned from slow and controlled to aggressive and sensual and raging with lust, and it's all by her demand.

"Three, she says, unbuckling my pants, unzipping me, and forcing them to the floor. She then puts her fingers in the band of my boxer briefs and pushes them down, her hands sliding down my hips as she drops to her knees and takes me in her mouth. This wasn't what I had planned, but like everything with Ana, it's so much better than I even expected.

"Two," I say, pulling her up and turning her around to face the city. I bring her to the windows and take her hands and place them on a metal ledge just beneath, then part her legs. "Brace yourself, Mrs. Grey."

"One," she says, and I push myself inside of her.

And we make hot, beautiful, lustful, everything love high above the city, coming together just as the new year rings in.

I don't care about the countdown happening below us. The only seconds that count are the ones spent with her.


End file.
